


Storms

by Lightbulbs



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Book 03: Oathbringer Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Post-Book 03: Oathbringer, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 21,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightbulbs/pseuds/Lightbulbs
Summary: “Sometimes Adolin considered saying the Words.”When Dalinar publishes his autobiography, Adolin wants to be the first to see it. But as he and Shallan read about his father’s life, Adolin learns that the truth is painful.[Set after Oathbringer]





	1. Clouds

Sometimes Adolin considered saying the Words.

He knew them by heart, of course. Storms, he’d heard them chanted left and right, mostly by soldiers hoping to become Radiants and take to the skies as Windrunners. It felt like the entirety of Urithiru strove for Radiance.

But every time he started to say them, the Words died on his lips. He’d look over at his sleeping wife and think of her beauty on the battlefield, Stormlight rising from her like morning mist. He’d think about his brother cleaving through a Thunderclast, or his cousin’s wicked battlefield alchemy.

Or his father, cloaked in a transcendence of energy.

Then he’d realize he wasn’t ready, not yet. Not by a long shot.

Ж

“Does it bother you?”

Adolin blinked. He was used to Renarin’s non sequiturs, but this… Where had this come from? It seemed at odds with the comfortable silence that had surrounded them as they visited the horses.

“Does what bother me?” he asked, turning to face Renarin. Sometimes seeing Adolin’s expressions helped Renarin focus.

Renarin looked away, as if nervous. “That I’m a Radiant.”

“What?” Again, Adolin wondered why Renarin had asked him _ this _question, of all things. “No! You’re a fantastic Radiant.” He gripped Renarin’s shoulder, looking at his brother with what he hoped was earnestness. His face felt a bit stiff. “You’ve always wanted to help people. Well, now you can.”

“I…” Renarin breathed. “Thank you.” He gave a small smile. “That means a lot coming from you. But…” He grew quiet, looking away again.

Adolin removed his hand from Renarin’s shoulder. He waited, letting the gentle breeze buoy the words Renarin didn’t want to say.

“Does it bother you that I’m a Radiant and you’re not?”

_ Ah, _thought Adolin. He was surprised, but not stunned. It was a perfectly valid question, after all. Surely others had noticed how the Kholin family had all bonded with spren on the cusp of the world's end.

“Of course not,” he heard himself say, even as his heart thudded and his stomach gave a treacherous lurch. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

Ж

The Knights Radiant were busy. Every since the battle at Thaylen City, they’d been visiting places all across Roshar, working to engender goodwill with monarchs and townsfolk alike. Adolin watched people wander in and out of Oathgates, flitting fast as windspren. One of the most surprising figures he’d seen manning the gates was Teft, the grizzled soldier from Bridgeboy's group. Bridge Four really was something.

Somehow, in the midst of all this politicking, his father had learned to read and write. And had written a book! It almost made Adolin want to write something. He’d joked about it to Shallan, and she’d giggled as she’d handed him a pen, but seeing the ink splattered across the clean page of her sketchbook just made him flustered. He’d stick with swords.

He didn’t know much about the book, although Navani had glanced at him and Renarin with an odd look as his father announced its publication. Shallan had swooped in for a copy immediately, and had taken it back to her and Adolin’s shared sleeping quarters.

“Don’t read ahead!” he said. He laughed at the look on her face, an expression that was half impatience, half chagrin. She’d been planning to skim it. “Let’s read it together.”

“If we’re waiting for you to learn to read, we’ll never finish it,” she said primly.

“Fair enough,” he said. _“You _read it to me.”

She smiled, and he smiled back. Storms, but she was wonderful.

Ж

The Everstorm continued to rage, even as the highstorms followed their predictable path across Roshar. Even up so high, there seemed to be a tinge of ozone to the air on the Urithiru balconies. Kaladin left for a long trip, checking in periodically via spanreed. Sometimes he traveled alone and had to send glyphs, rather than full updates.

What if Shallan was sent away? Adolin knew that it was impossible for the two of them not to separate in times of war. He’d been trained as a soldier, and yet a part of him knew that she was so much more to him than a wife.

She thought he was better than he really was, and somehow, she made him believe it.

They spent their time with what Adolin began to think of as The Book—although perhaps such significance was better bestowed upon _ The Way of Kings, _since that had been the book to start it all. Still, with his father’s own gravitas, this book would surely come to be as important in the ages to come.

Every night, he and Shallan would retreat to their quarters, and she’d read to him in a clear, melodious voice. Adolin loved how reading aloud forced her to slow down, to shape her words with a musical clarity. When he closed his eyes, he could almost remember his mother’s voice, just as sweet.

The book itself was interesting, too. His father’s early life had been something of a mystery, and he hadn’t known his uncle terribly well, given that he’d been away from the battlefront until he was older.

True, Adolin was surprised by his father’s admittance to anger, but if he thought about it, he could remember those dark days when violet wine had flowed freely, and his father’s tongue had only grown sharper from the drink.

_ It’s been awhile since I’ve thought of him as the Blackthorn, _he thought, leaning against Shallan as she came to a stop. Their Stormlight was running out, and it wouldn’t do to waste a Radiant’s light on something so frivolous. She leaned in to kiss him goodnight—lingering—and he pushed aside thoughts of the book.

Still, as the night grew long, Adolin found he couldn’t sleep. He thought about his father. He’d been such a harsh man, but how could Adolin blame him? That was the Alethi way. Thunder above and below.

Ж

They were a few pages in when Shallan tried to stop reading. She wore an expression Adolin hadn’t seen in a while, a pained, faraway look. She looked haunted.

“What’s wrong, Shallan?”

“I…” She turned away from him, looking down at the sheets. She smoothed the rumpled fabric. “I don’t know if you’ll want to hear this next part.”

Adolin thought back to the previous week, the last time they’d been able to read together. The book, it was… it was right around the time before his mother’s death. He suddenly felt cold, a chill coating his face and freezing his tongue.

As he shook from his stupor, he saw Shallan looking at him. He had to say something, something warm and loving to cut through the ice. “I want to hear it,” he said.

“Are you sure? Really sure?” Shallan closed her eyes. Adolin realized he could hear a slight hum, almost a whine. _ Pattern? _“You can't unhear the truth.”

He’d reached for her hand—her safe hand. The thrill of her smooth skin was forgotten in the churn of anxiety he felt at that moment. Her eyes looked world-weary, as if they’d witnessed the Recreance itself. But he had to know.

“Please.” 

The whine was clearer now. “Shallan…” it said.

Shallan frowned at the sheets, rumpled once more under her hand. She looked back at Adolin, and he flashed her his winning smile. She resumed reading.

Ж

Fire. The choking stench of smoke amidst the screams. His father, striding into the town in a manic rage.

She stumbled over the words. Her voice had lost its musical cadence, becoming something raw. Adolin became aware of his heartbeat, thudding in his chest like thunder. Still, she read.

His mother, disappearing into the night…

Shallan looked at him, catching his eye even as he felt himself grow numb.

_ This isn’t how the story goes, _he thought. _ This isn’t _...

“Stop,” he said. Shockspren broke and reformed around him in bursts of yellow.

The room was quiet, although Adolin could hear a buzzing in his ears. He didn’t think it was Pattern.

Shallan’s eyes were bright. She set down the book and leaned against him. He tried to focus on the warmth of her body against his, but it only made him think of the heat of flames.

He pulled away.

Shallan reached for him, but he was already on the other side of the bed. “I won’t make you talk about it, but… Keeping it inside won’t help, Adolin. Believe me, I know.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. Pattern was humming.

He bowed his head, thoughts tumbling. He didn’t say anything; he simply breathed, as if preparing for battle.

“Adolin…”

He felt a swell of emotion, like a chasmfiend devouring him whole. He pushed it away. Stoic. He had to be like... had to...

Standing, he made for the door and walked out of the room, ignoring Shallan and Pattern and everything else.


	2. Wind

The dimly lit hallway made Adolin think of Sadeas’s murder. He could smell the iron stench of blood, could feel the slick wetness of a stabbed eye in his grip. Sadeas had deserved death. But thinking of him reminded Adolin of how the man had helped lie about the truth behind the fire at Rathalas.

About this mother.

_ I need air, _Adolin thought.

The hallway was blessedly quiet, and there was no one at the lifts. At this hour, most people would be asleep or at the Breakaway. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw Dalinar.

_ My father is a good man. It’s the Blackthorn… he's the one... _

There was static in his head. Adolin found himself near an Oathgate platform, and he stared out at the clear skies beyond the tower, deep black night set against a spray of stars. The soldiers guarding the platform ignored him.

“Adolin? What’s wrong?”

Adolin started, looking for the voice. He met Renarin’s eyes. When had he…?

_Radiant, _he thought. Renarin’s spren had probably told him he was coming here, before he even knew himself. Adolin shook his head. “I’m fine,” he replied. He smiled, ignoring the way he was growing lightheaded.

Renarin stepped closer, wearing a solemn expression. “You don’t look fine,” he said. He had never been good at reading people’s moods, but somehow, he always knew what Adolin was thinking.

“I’m fine,” Adolin repeated. He rimed his voice with frost, willing his brother to go away. “Leave me be, Renarin.”

Renarin didn’t move. He cocked his head, as if listening to someone speak. It took a moment for Adolin to realize that that was probably the case.

So many secrets.

Adolin growled, frustrated, and started to walk away. Renarin reached out and grabbed Adolin’s arm. When had he gotten so strong? Was it because he’d been training with Bridge Four?

He shook off his brother’s hand, and the emotions he’d been trying to tamp down erupted like a sudden Everstorm. “Did you know?” he bellowed. His voice carried in the dark. “Did you know?”

Renarin drew back, eyes widening. The cool night air felt stifling hot, and Adolin wanted to rip off his tailored jacket and toss it to the platform below.

He waited.

“I knew.” Renarin didn’t ask Adolin to elaborate. His voice was soft, though not weak. There was no wavering in the words, and that made Adolin’s insides twist. So he’d known. Their mother…

Adolin could handle the changes in his life. That was fine. But his mother had been his bedrock, the foundation of his world. He saw her reflected in the mirror each morning, woven into the strands of his hair. To discover it had been Dalinar’s fault all along…

Adolin felt his body go numb, as if he’d suddenly taken a Shardblade to the gut and his soul was escaping the confines of his too-tight skin. “Open the gate,” he said. His voice was hollow.

“What?”

“I said,” Adolin growled, “open the gate.” His hand hovered beside him, as if ready to summon his Shardblade. What was he _doing?_

He looked at Renarin. There was something in those eyes. Sadness? Pity? His little brother, whom he’d always protected.

So much was changing.

“You’re needed here,” said Renarin. “You just can’t—”

“Ren. Open the Oathgate. Let me leave. I just…” He sighed, looking away from the distant look on his brother’s face. Again, his brother engaged in conversation with his spren. “Please.”

Renarin didn’t reply, but he fidgeted slightly. It was a tell that he’d never been able to hide, not from Adolin. It was almost a comfort to see the way Renarin’s stubbornness crumbled away at Adolin’s request. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

“We need to talk about this,” said Renarin finally. Adolin felt his face tighten, but Renarin added, “but not now. I can send you to the Shattered Plains for a time. Is that… would that be all right?”

The Shattered Plains. Is that where this platform went? Adolin realized he didn’t care where Renarin sent him. He could be sent to Salas, for all he cared. “Do it.”

Renarin nodded and started to walk to the controls, glancing back at his brother. “It’s okay to feel sad, Adolin.”

There was the sound of conversation at the Oathgate entrance, first inquiring, then loud. Adolin thought he heard booming thunder. Dalinar? He didn’t care.

Adolin watched as the world swirled around him, bathing him in the blessed Stormlight that would get him away from all the storming people in his life.

Ж

It had been a while since Adolin felt this out of control. His mood was rent by dark, heavy clouds. He hadn’t felt like this since—

He stopped, considering the vastness of the Shattered Plains. The dusty earth reflected the moonlight. It carried with it a strange sense of nostalgia. In a way, this was where Adolin had grown up. His teenage years were covered in dirt and dust and blood.

He squashed those thoughts. This had been a terrible idea. Why was he so stupid? Of course coming here would make him think of Dalinar. So stupid!

Scowling, he made his way off the platform. There were some camps, the few that remained after discovering Urithiru, and with camps came people. He didn’t want to be recognized, but his hair was too obvious, gold threading black. At least it was dark. He wished he were like Shallan, able to cloak himself in another identity.

He wondered if that's why she did it.

He headed away from the platform, ignoring the salutes of the soldiers nearby. He was just checking supplies, monitoring the grounds. Someone called out congratulations on his marriage, and he gave a little wave of acknowledgment.

A guardsman ran up to him, and Adolin schooled his features into a smile.

“Sir, is there a message?” the guardsman asked.

“No, no message,” he said. “I’m just looking around.”

The guardsman looked past Adolin, as if searching for his retinue. Adolin frowned and said, “Just carry on with”—he waved a hand—“whatever it is you’re doing.”

There was a moment’s pause before the guardsman nodded and walked away. Adolin took in a shaky breath. He pushed through, continuing to walk through pathways and avoiding people’s eyes.

He felt almost normal. There weren’t too many people around this side of camp, only a few unmanned cookfires.

It hit him, suddenly. Hidden in the smoke, a surprise ambush of emotion.

_ The Blackthorn_...

Adolin ducked between two tents. Luckily, no one was around to see him. He worked through Master Zahel’s breathing exercises, attempting to settle his mind. But his mind was a tumultuous storm, untamed by his slow, even breaths.

The ground was too far away. He found himself crouched, arms around knees as he closed his eyes, pressing against the present and the past and the future until all that was left was the darkness behind his eyelids and the crackling sound of a fire.


	3. Interlude: Eddy

_Inside brightness,_  
_haze becomes night_  
_Darkness alight; in light, a darkness_  
_Night becomes haze,_  
_brightness inside_

Ж

Kaladin arrives at Urithiru just as the sun peeks out from the horizon. He spent the night staring at stars, letting the wind rush through his uniform jacket as he flew through gauzy clouds. Syl had flown with some windspren, circling around him and giggling.

He’d never expected to feel such freedom, not since the day Roshone had arrived in Hearthstone. Strange how expectations can be upended.

The trip itself went well. He knows that his journey will be longer next time—there’s been discussion about further uniting Alethkar, pulling in the Brightlords of smaller towns and getting them to support the Knights Radiant. Dalinar will talk more about it soon, he’s sure. For now, Kaladin’s glad he was able to survey his lands—though storms, how did _he _become a lord? He’s already exhausted by the thought.

The Oathgate platform is his landing pad. He Lashes himself down, boots tapping against stone.

“I’m going to go look around!” Syl says, and without so much listening to Kaladin’s reply, she flies into the building.

Kaladin shakes his head. The spren is capricious as ever. As he heads towards the entryway, he sees a young man clad in a Bridge Four uniform, his hair dark and streaked with blond.

“Renarin,” Kaladin says as he walks over.

Renarin perks up at the sight of him. Funny how Kaladin had once overlooked him as just another lighteyes. The young prince has really come into his own.

“Hello, Kaladin. I hope you had a nice trip.”

Kaladin smiles. “It was productive. I scouted some more towns we’ll want to contact. The people are struggling.”

“Good, good.”

Kaladin pauses. _Good?_ Surely he doesn’t think—but no, Renarin’s mind is elsewhere.

The sun has risen higher, bathing Urithiru in a golden glow. Kaladin wants to relax a bit before the inevitable briefing, but Renarin is acting strange, even for him. “Okay,” he finally says, “what's going on?”

Renarin looks confused, though he seems to snap back to attention. “Huh?”

“You just said it was good that people are suffering.”

Renarin flushes. “That's not... Sorry. There's something on my mind."

Kaladin frowns. "What?"

Renarin doesn't want to say. Kaladin can tell by the way Renarin's lips are pursed, as if he’s holding in a secret. Finally, Renarin sighs. “Well...”

Ж

Camp is quiet, save for the chatter of men hauling boxes and supplies and soldiers readying their weapons for morning training. They call out to Kaladin as he passes. To their eyes, he is alone. They don’t see the small, blue-white figure that hovers beside his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Kaladin?” Syl asks. He’d waited for her to return before heading to the Shattered Plains. A look of concern is plain on her face, mouth tugged down and eyes beseeching.

“I don’t know. Adolin’s been gone all night. Renarin said he went through the Oathgate.” He looks around, glancing for signs of fresh boot prints on the ground below. The wind has blown them away. The day is already hot enough that his uniform jacket sticks to his back.

“What about Shallan?” Syl asks. “Does she know where he went?”

Kaladin frowns. “It’s not like I had enough time to set up a full investigation.”

_“Is _ this an investigation?” Syl asks. “Why? Adolin can go where he wants, right? I mean, he’s a highprince. That’s what they do.”

“Disappear?” asks Kaladin, his eyebrow raised.

“No, silly.” Syl is floating in front of his face, like a lantern held before him in a darkened cave. It’s so bright out that her glow hardly registers. “Go wherever they want.”

Kaladin sighs and says, “I suppose you’re right.” He looks around. They’re at the far end of the camp now, where there are less people. “He just… I don’t know, Syl. Renarin said he looked upset.”

“Adolin doesn’t get upset.” Syl laughs. “He’s like the sun!”

Kaladin snorts. “Maybe because he thinks the world revolves around him.”

At that, Syl glares. “You don’t believe that.”

Kaladin sighs. “You’re right, I don’t,” he replies, and Syl floats away, satisfied. He mumbles, “It was just a joke.”

As he nears the last few tents, a small cookfire catches Kaladin’s eye. It looks like it’s been burning all night, the coals glowing reddish orange. The area surrounding it is dirt, but the tents are flammable. All it would take was one strong wind…

There’s a noise behind one of the tents.

Kaladin immediately tenses up, breathing in a bit of Stormlight from the pouch on his belt. Syl flies back, leaving blue streaks in the air. Without a word, he crouches and starts walking towards the sound.


	4. Drizzle

Adolin woke up to the sound of footsteps, the quiet crunch of boots on grit. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming. Then came the voice: “Adolin! Are you hurt?”

He blinked and blearily registered a blue shape. As his eyes refocused, he could see Kaladin, his face pinched as he looked down at Adolin. His eyes were the light blue of a cloudless sky.

Adolin wanted to stand up. He _had_ to, so as to not worry Kaladin, but he couldn’t find the strength to push himself off the ground.

But this was Kaladin. He had to push through; he couldn’t be seen as weak. Kaladin needed him, didn’t he?

_ Doesn’t he? _

Adolin shook off those thoughts as he pulled himself upright, his legs finally listening to his urgent commands. He stood, and he smiled a fake, too-brittle smile. “Bridgeboy,” he said. “I’m fine. I just… got dizzy.”

He’d hoped it was enough, but in seconds, Kaladin was standing close, prodding at Adolin’s face. Adolin wanted to back away from those callused hands.

“Hold still,” Kaladin muttered. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he looked at Adolin’s hairline, brushing against his skull as if searching for something. “Were there any other symptoms?”

“Huh?”

Kaladin turned that concentrated gaze to Adolin directly. It made him want to flee. It was piercing, and Adolin wasn’t sure that he could hide anything from the surgeon-turned-soldier. “Was there anything besides dizziness?”

_ It all comes down to secrets_, he thought.

“I was a bit shaky,” he said, letting a bit of truth filter in. “I felt a bit uncoordinated. I thought… I thought some fresh air would do me good.”

Kaladin hummed. Adolin could swear he saw the wind whipping around Kaladin’s uniform, flipping the fabric up and around. It was probably his spren, the pale-skinned woman he’d met in Shadesmar.

“It’s unlikely you’d manifest symptoms this late in life… runs in the family… it’s probably…” Kaladin was muttering, though whether it was to his spren or to himself, Adolin wasn’t sure. He took a moment to steady himself. He tried not to think about the dirt staining his outfit; he probably looked terrible.

Kaladin looked back at Adolin. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Adolin thought. Time was… slippery. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been out here, although he knew it’d been night before. “I don’t know.”

Kaladin shook his head. “I don’t see anything wrong with you physically. Perhaps it’s low blood sugar”—he paused, as if being interrupted—”that is, you may have missed a meal too many.”

“I’ve gone without eating before, Bridgeboy.”

At that Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you. If you start to feel sick, go visit one of the surgeons and have them look at you.” He paused. “Or come to me.”

Adolin laughed. “I’d almost say you cared.”

The affronted look reminded Adolin of the time he’d seen Stormfather’s face, spanning the heavens over Dalinar and Navani’s wedding. A righteous anger. “I _ do _care,” said Kaladin. Then, in a softer grumble, “Probably too much.”

Well, what was there to say to that? Adolin shuffled awkwardly, but he couldn’t stop the slight smile.

“Come on,” Kaladin finally said. His voice was tired. “Let’s get you back. Shallan must be worried.” 

Ж

They took the Oathgate back to Urithiru, Kaladin using his gleaming Shardblade to activate the giant fabrial. It still struck Adolin as odd to see Kaladin handle the blade so deftly. Wasn’t this the man who had refused to hold a Shardblade not so long ago?

More storming changes! It seemed like everyone was changing but Adolin.

_ I’ve got to be better, _he thought. He felt tired.

“Be sure to let Renarin know you’re here,” said Kaladin, pointing to the main tower. Adolin turned to see one of the Cobalt Guard waving at them.

“Storms, looks like I’m needed,” Kaladin muttered. He gave Adolin a look. “Come to me if you need to.” At that, he ran off.

Adolin looked around at the gates, which were busy with comings and goings. He didn’t see Renarin—he wasn’t sure if he _ wanted _to see him—and so he left the gateway, heading towards his sleeping quarters and thinking of what to tell Shallan.

Ever since he’d opened up to her about Sadeas, back during their trip in Shadesmar, they’d forged a delicate balance of truth and lies between them. Although he was usually open with her, he wasn’t sure how he liked the idea of letting her know he’d spent his night huddled in a ball in the dirt.

Thinking of it that way, he _ really _didn’t like the idea of telling her the whole truth. What would she think of him? He was already the lesser of the two in their marriage.

He blinked, only to see that he was already at his room.

His breath caught, and he had to pause to steady himself. He considered knocking, then realized Shallan would be waiting already. Feeling nervous, he opened the door and walked inside.


	5. Interlude: Sunshower

_Fairness, unlike life_  
_Squeezing tight, heartbeats_  
_ Drumming war and love, and war drums_  
_ beating, heart tightly squeezed_  
_Life, like unfairness_

Ж

Shallan is bristling with worry and anger, and she feels like the redness of her hair is actual flame, blazing up with the strength of her emotions.

“Where—” she starts to say, but she knows _ where _Adolin was. He was out on the Shattered Plains, doing the Almighty knows what, without even letting her know! In fact, the only reason she knows is because Kaladin came by to tell her, sharing a few terse words before running off with the Cobalt Guard.

Shallan’s only been married so long, but she’s pretty sure that makes Adolin a terrible husband, at least for the sake of the argument she’s trying to bite back.

_ I’ve just found happiness, _ she thinks. _ I can’t lose it _now.

“Why were you out in the Shattered Plains all night?” she finally asks. “Without telling me?”

Adolin shrugs halfheartedly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He grins at her, in a way that’s supposed to make her knees go weak, but at the look on his face, her breath catches, and not in the heart-fluttering way. She’s good at masks, far better than Adolin is, and it’s obvious he’s hiding something.

“That’s not an answer,” she says. Pattern hums in approval, perhaps because she’s become better at sorting truth and lies.

Adolin frowns, not saying anything. Shallan can wait.

Her own thoughts are loud. Veil tells her that Adolin’s a soldier, that Kaladin would have said something if anything bad were going on. But Veil trusts Kaladin’s word too much, and Shallan knows Adolin better than Veil does.

“Do you want me to be honest?” he finally asks, in a voice so quiet that she can hardly hear him.

Her heart breaks. “Always,” she whispers, even though she feels like a hypocrite.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Hearing about the Blackthorn… I mean, hearing about my father and how lied about my m-mo—” He can’t finish.

_ Storms_, thinks Shallan, _ he’s really upset. _She rises from the bed and walks over to Adolin, who's standing in the doorway with his head bowed. She wraps her arms around him, breathing him in, willing him to feel better.

_ It’s not that easy, though, is it? _

She tries to think of something to say, anything. “Where’s Wit when you need him,” she mutters.

Adolin suddenly laughs, a bark of surprise that’s all the more genuine for his somber mood. “Why? So he can upset me further?”

Shallan sighs. Right now, Adolin doesn’t need the Girl Who Stood Up. He needs his wife. She steps back and reaches for him with her safehand. A trusting, intimate gesture. He takes it, then looks at her.

“This is a _ partnership, _ Adolin,” she says. She knows her face is grave, but how else can she show the import of what she’s saying? She’s been here before. Even if he weren’t her husband, weren’t her sunlight, she’d want to help him. _ Need _to help him. “That means that you need to tell me where you are if you go running off on some fool errand.”

“It wasn’t—” he starts to say, but she cuts him off.

“Even if that errand is running away from your problems for a while.”

He says nothing to that, just looks at her in surprise. “You’re really smart,” he finally says.

“It’s one of my more endearing traits.”

“Humble, too.” And this time, when he smiles, it’s the wholehearted smile that lights up his face and turns him into living Stormlight.

Ж

That night, she can’t sleep. She lies awake, thinking of how unfair it is for the people she loves to suffer so much.

Beside her, Adolin turns over, restless and mumbling.

“Life before death,” she hears him mutter, but soon he’s snoring quietly, as if he’d never said anything at all.


	6. Mist

“That’s why I’m sharing the truth. I need the people to understand the Blackthorn, to see how I’ve changed. That’s the only way they can trust me.”

Dalinar’s voice resonated throughout the room. It echoed in that strong, capable way that Adolin had always admired. Now he wasn’t sure what to think.

Adolin wanted to forgive his father. He knew that Odium’s touch had tainted the Alethi people, and the older Kholin most of all. He _ knew. _

And yet.

This was a smaller meeting, one with most of the Radiants, Navani, and Adolin. Adolin was relieved to see his aunt there. If it were just him, he’d feel out of place, like a dun sphere among glowing ones.

“Roshar is changing, and we need to be ready,” Dalinar continued, holding up a slim sheaf of papers that Adolin figured was the original draft of his book. Had everyone read it yet? Was this room privy to its secrets?

Shallan hadn’t resumed their readings since the other night. Although he hadn’t told her to stop, Adolin was grateful. Back then, Dalinar hadn’t taken the death well, and Adolin was afraid to hear about drunken binges and the darkest parts of his childhood.

“That’s why the Radiants are returning.” Dalinar glanced around the room, his eyes seeming to slide over Adolin. “We must accept the past in order to change our future.”

Every time Dalinar said the word “change,” something inside Adolin twisted. His muscles grew taut; his jaw clenched. He breathed, willing himself to settle down. Master Zahel would be angry at his lack of control.

_ It's just a word. Get it together, Adolin! _

“Do you truly believe people will accept your truth?” Jasnah asked. She adjusted the crown on her head, so nonchalantly that it seemed she’d always worn it. “Your book contradicts the historical record in significant ways.” She thumbed through some pages, what appeared to be notes she’d written prior to the meeting. “Particularly regarding Rathalas.”

Jasnah was never one for subtlety, but her words felt like a physical blow. Adolin blinked, trying to push back the confusing rush of emotion.

“That’s the scholar’s perspective,” said Navani, looking at Jasnah with a fond expression. “People don’t care for the objective truth. The intent of the writing will make the words hold sway, whether or not they truly believe.”

Jasnah nodded, acknowledging her mother’s words. “If people believe the Blackthorn can become a good man, they’ll be more likely to join our cause. Intel suggests that the events of Thaylen City changed people’s opinion for the better, although smaller towns have yet to hear the news and have had no reason to change their views.”

Kaladin broke in. “I just visited a few of the smaller towns surrounding the fallen capital. They hardly have food and shelter, much less a source of news about Alethi governance.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t think they realize they have a queen.”

Jasnah sighed. “Be that as it may, we’ll need to start reaching out to the Brightlords of the townships. We need a united front in Alethkar, particularly with Kholinar’s fall. Things will be divisive.”

Dalinar cleared his throat. “Let me say this. We can remember the past while moving beyond it. Let’s change people’s views, like we changed their opinions of the Codes.”

Adolin frowned. _ Did they change their views, _ he wondered, _or did they merely pretend to agree with the Blackthorn? _

No one asked what Adolin thought. He tried to listen, but all he heard was “changes, changes” and little else.

The meeting adjourned soon after.


	7. Cloudburst

Days seemed to crawl at a chull’s pace, lumbering through the hours in a steady stream of training and political discussions. Each moment felt similar to the last, and Adolin couldn’t shake his listlessness.

It wasn’t his status as the non-Radiant of the Kholin family. He was _ fine _with that. Truly. The Knights Radiant were doing good work, trying to unite Roshar against Odium. They’d soon be conferring with the Brightlords of some of Alethkar’s smaller townships, with Windrunners bringing those lords willing to meet in person to Urithiru itself.

It was everything else. Revelations of the Alethi’s colonization of Roshar, the truth behind his mother’s death, the shift in leadership after Elokhar’s murder: each new piece of information came together to form a disquieting tapestry of betrayals and ill will.

Adolin shook his head. _ Think about it later. _

He’d opened up to Shallan, just a bit. It still struck him as funny that a last-ditch betroyal to a no-name lighteyes girl had ended with him marrying one of the founding warriors of the new Knights Radiant. Funny, and maybe a little intimidating.

As for another stubborn Radiant he knew…

Kaladin had visited his and Shallan’s quarters not long after Adolin’s little excursion on the Shattered Plains. Adolin wasn’t sure if Kaladin was judging him or not—he always had that scowl. Whatever the case, Kaladin had asked Adolin about his health, becoming increasingly annoyed at his non-answers.

“Are you sure you’re not feeling tired?” Kaladin asked.

“Yes, Bridgeboy,” Adolin assured him.

Shallan just snickered at her desk, hidden behind her sketchbook.

There was only one person who hadn’t spoken to him, one person whose opinion still mattered to Adolin more than he cared to admit. But perhaps, until Adolin could untangle his anger and frustration… perhaps it was for the best.

Ж

“You can’t just skip the meeting,” said Kaladin with a scowl.

Somehow, the sight of Kaladin’s grumpy face made Adolin feel a bit better. “I don’t know what I’d be able to contribute,” said Adolin reasonably. “Jasnah needs to present herself as the ruling body in order to gain the favor of the Brightlords.”

The scowl deepened. “You’re still a highprince. You’ve got to contribute.”

Adolin sighed. That much was true, though he felt like a figurehead as of late. Storms, his wife held more power than he did. “Fine,” he said. He looked down at his worn uniform. He mutely noticed a small stain on one of the sleeves. “Guess I’ll change into something nice.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes, but Adolin thought he saw a grin twitch at the corners of his mouth. With that, Kaladin whisked off.

Adolin walked back to his room, which was empty. He dug through his clothes, picking out a few pieces in various shades of blue. _ Should I go military-inspired? Or something more relaxed? _

As he selected his top and trousers, a sense of relaxation fell over him. It was… nice. Doing something simple, maybe a bit frivolous. He felt like he was sinking back into his own skin.

After getting dressed, he stared at himself in the mirror, adjusting the fall of the sleeves and the creases in the slate gray trousers he’d selected. He hummed, satisfied. Even if he didn’t speak at the meeting, he’d make for a pretty tableau.

“Where’s the party?”

He turned to see Shallan smiling at him from the doorway, wearing one of her well-worn traveling dresses and covered in dust. She must have just gotten back from one of her surveys of the artifact rooms in the upper tower.

“Hmm,” he said, walking over and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I think you’re invited to this one.”

She made a face. “I know. The meeting’s about to start. A whole flock of Windrunners just flew in. I’m not sure if I have time to change.” 

“You look nice,” Adolin replied, ignoring the dusty hem of her skirt.

“Lies,” buzzed Pattern, and Shallan laughed.

“Well, it’s a moot point anyway,” she said. She smoothed down her hair and grabbed one of her sketchbooks. “Shall we?”


	8. Downpour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the nice comments! They brighten my day. ☀️

The meeting was held in a large atrium on one of Urithiru’s upper levels, close to where Shallan had been exploring. Brightlords and ladies milled around, marveling at the faceted stone and gawping at the Stormlight that streamed from the Squires and Knights running small errands along the surrounding corridors.

As Adolin expected, he didn’t play much of a part in the proceedings. He sat near the back, close to the doorway. He kept catching brief flashes of light out of the corner of his eye.

_ Is that Kaladin? Don’t tell me he skipped the meeting when he practically forced me to come... _

“And so,” said Jasnah, commanding and regal, “we propose greater cooperation between the towns and Urithiru. We welcome anyone wishing to swear the ideals to join in our efforts against Odium and the Voidbringers.” A few people shuffled at that, clearly uncomfortable.

Adolin wondered what it must be like to live a small town, hidden away from politics. Maybe it would be nice, living peacefully as a farmer. Would he like it?

Shallan nudged Adolin, and the brief pain in his ribs forced him back at attention. He focused on the speaker, a dark, stocky Brightlord with close-cropped hair. The speaker affected a noble air, his prominent nose raised high as if the proceedings were beneath him.

“You say that you’ve changed,” the Brightlord sneered. He pointed to Dalinar with a lazy hand.

_ What were we talking about, _Adolin wondered, and he looked to Shallan and raised his eyebrows in silent question. She mimed something, poorly. He shrugged.

“But,” the Brightlord continued, “from what I’m to understand, your son murdered the highprince Sadeas.”

A few muffled gasps filled the atrium, and Adolin felt his pulse spike. Shallan grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He caught a glimpse of Kaladin, who had frozen in the doorway.

“Adolin was the one in charge of the investigation, wasn’t he?” The Brightlord’s voice grew oily. “A position given to him by none other than yourself?”

Dalinar stiffened, and Adolin felt his heart thrum inside his chest. He could feel his father’s disappointment from across the room. Some of the assembly had turned to him, and their stares were brands burning into his skin. He noticed a small white petal dropping to the floor near his foot.

“That is true,” said Dalinar, his words precise. “I was not aware of his conduct, however. What he did went against the Codes.”

The Brightlord scoffed. “He had a good teacher.”

Dalinar stood up from his seat, towering as large as the Stormlight himself. “My son’s actions were his own. I disavow them, and while I will acknowledge my own misdeeds, I do not tie myself to them. I have sworn myself to honor.” He looked to Adolin, his deep eyes piercing. Adolin shuddered. “I'm sure he would say the same.”

Now everyone turned to look at him.

“I—” said Adolin, “That is…” He closed his eyes, not finishing his sentence.

Again, the Brightlord scoffed. “Pardon me for not believing the words of a war criminal and his murderer son.”

The room erupted. Adolin’s ears were filled with wild, erratic beats, loud as Parshendi war drums. He stood stiffly, bowed, then left the meeting.

Ж

Adolin ducked his head, avoiding Kaladin’s eyes as stumbled through the doorway. He walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the startled looks from the guardsmen. Although he kept his face as composed as possible, his jaw ached as he ground his teeth. There was a coil of anger inside him, red-hot amidst the dark of his frustration.

He finally reached an empty stretch of hallway. As he leaned against the wall, he closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. _ Storms! _First he’d panicked over a cookfire, now he was boiling over with rage. Red angerspren churned at his feet. His emotions were as unpredictable as stormwinds, and just as dangerous. There had been a moment, looking at Dalinar’s eyes, when he’d wanted to stab him like he’d stabbed Sadeas.

He hadn’t liked that feeling.

The hallway remained empty, likely because no one felt comfortable being around the obviously unbalanced highprince. He felt like all the changes were pressing down on him, crushing his ribs and leaving him breathless.

By habit, he called his Shardblade, willing it to manifest in his hand.

“Maya,” he murmured. He felt a brief sense of shame willing her away from Shadesmar for such a petty reason. He wasn’t in danger. Everything was _ fine. _

He looked at the condensation-covered blade, memories of Thaylen City rising up within him. “You were amazing then, you know? You gave me purpose. Everyone else had their orders, but me…” He shook his head.

As he looked up, he saw movement down the hallway. He saw Shallan’s hair first before he saw her worried expression. Her eyes darted to his Shardblade, then back at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He exhaled, dismissing Maya. He raised his free hand in a wave and smiled at Shallan wanly. “If you figure that out, would you let me know?”


	9. Interlude: Eye of the Storm

_Battles make weariness_  
_ Quiet in contemplation_  
_ Heartened choice, dark choice in heart_  
_ Contemplating in quiet,_  
_weariness made battling_

Ж

During the battle at Thaylen City, Dalinar had never felt so exposed. He’d accepted his pain and acknowledged his past. His book was almost an afterthought, a remnant of the truth he’d inhabited during those moments he’d set himself against Odium.

And yet he hadn’t realized the effect the truth would have on his sons.

Renarin seems to be taking things in stride. He wonders if it has something to do with his youngest being a Truthwatcher, of him understanding that truth is pricked with pain. Adolin, on the other hand, seems to have fallen face-first into those thorns.

No, Dalinar hadn’t considered the effects of sharing the truth behind Evi’s death. He’s started thinking of Navani as the bearer of his heart, not his late wife. He wants to move forward.

Adolin, though… Adolin is drowning in the past. His face has grown stony. While the Blackthorn would have been glad to see Adolin toughening up, Dalinar isn’t sure he agrees.

Ж

After the Brightlord’s outburst, Adolin is quick to disappear, with Shallan following soon after. It’s difficult to settle people down, and the room becomes chaos, filled with flashes of red and purple and the shrill sound of panic. Jasnah soon calls for adjournment.

Dalinar doesn’t move from his seat, even as Squires lead people from the room. Many of the Brightlords linger, talking with Windrunners and trying to speak with Kaladin, who deftly avoids them. Before long, the atrium empties in a low, chattering bustle.

Dalinar sighs.

“What’s wrong, gemheart?” Navani asks. “Today’s meeting went as well as it could have. That many lords in one room was asking for conflict.”

Jasnah stands impatiently beside her, as if eager to return to her study. Much to Dalinar’s surprise, she answers before he can think of a response. “He’s concerned about Adolin,” she says.

Navani looks surprised. “Adolin?”

Dalinar nods uncomfortably. “I don't think he's handling the truth of his mother's death well.”

“Unsurprising,” Jasnah replies. “Adolin has always been gentle at heart.”

“It’s never affected his ability to fight.” Now it’s Navani’s turn to sigh. “Even so. It must be difficult.”

Dalinar shifts in his seat. “I fear that he only sees me as the darkest parts of the Blackthorn,” he says. He coughs lightly. “He always thought too highly of me.”

“Well, what are you planning to do about it? We need him for the war effort,” says Jasnah. Her tone is firm, but there is a faint trace of worry to her stern features. Dalinar knows that she and her cousin have always been on good terms.

_ Perhaps I should speak to him, _ Dalinar thinks. _ But will he speak with me? _

Ж

Dalinar had never really appreciated his son’s outlook. Not until lately.

The more he tries to unite Roshar, the more he realizes how unusual it is for someone like Adolin to exist in times of war. Someone unbroken, honorable. Perhaps that’s why the murder of Sadeas came as such as surprise—though even the Stormfather might see honor in Adolin’s actions.

Dalinar looks at a Squire walking past, determined look on his scarred face. Dalinar doesn’t recognize him, but that’s hardly surprising. It’s a testament to Roshar’s unity that more and more people are joining the fight. There are so many people swearing the ideals that Dalinar can no longer keep track of their ranks. A good problem to have.

As Dalinar heads toward his room, he bumps into a man stomping past. He sees the scowl first, then the uniform. “Kaladin?” he says.

Kaladin looks at him, eyes dark. He hasn’t used his Shardblade recently; all of his missions have been scouting only. “Sir?”

Dalinar notices Kaladin’s tense posture. An idea hits him. “Kaladin, you’ve been around my son lately. Adolin, I mean.”

Kaladin frowns. “Yes…? Is this about him passing out on the Shattered Plains the other night?”

The words are a shock. “He _ what?” _

“Um,” says Kaladin, looking away from Dalinar. “I would have thought—ignore that. I verified that he was fine afterwards.” He looked back up, jaw set. “If it’s not about that, then what?”

“I…” Dalinar’s not sure what to say. _ Why did Adolin go to the Shattered Plains in the first place? _“He’s not well.”

“That much is obvious,” says Kaladin. His tone is frustrated. Then, as if realizing his curtness, he adds, “Sir.”

Dalinar pauses. “I trust your opinion. I know why he’s upset, and I know that I’m to blame. While I would gladly accept his anger, I fear it’s more complicated than simply pulling him aside for a talk.”

Kaladin stares at him. “I… see. I wasn’t aware of that.” He looks as if he’s just realized something.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Dalinar asks. “For reconciliation?”

A pause. “I’m not sure,” Kaladin finally says. He shifts his stance, fidgeting. “It wasn’t so long ago that he was just another lighteyes to me. Now, though…” Wind seems to ruffle through his hair. “I mean, he’s your son. Shouldn’t you know him best?”

Dalinar sighs. “I missed a great deal of Adolin’s life, and I didn’t see him become the man he is today. He’s not the reputation he once held. Perhaps he never was. He has his own sense of honor, and he stands by his convictions.”

Kaladin clears his throat. “It sounds like you know him better than you think.”

Dalinar could swear he hears the Stormfather rumble in his head, a low sound of agreement.

Perhaps he should consider the matter further. He nods at Kaladin and starts to head downstairs to meet with Navani. _Perhaps I should..._

Before he can get far, Kaladin speaks again. “What if…” His voice trails off.

Dalinar turns to the spearman, gesturing for him to continue.

Kaladin looks thoughtful. “I think,” he says, “I have an idea.”


	10. Gust

Shallan stood with Adolin in the hallway, not speaking, just allowing him to sort through his thoughts. He took a deep breath, then another, willing himself to a focused state of calm.

Adolin was practically bursting with thoughts lately. He missed the days when all he’d had to think of was working towards his Calling in dueling. He ached to train, to share lighthearted banter with soldiers as they kicked up dust in a march.

_ Storming changes! _

“Why does it bother me so much?” he finally said.

“What ‘it’? You’ll need to be more specific.”

“You know.” He gestured to himself.

“Um, there are a _ lot _of things bothering you lately.”

He sighed, relaxing his shoulders. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to read my mind? Isn’t that a Radiant thing?”

“Sorry, that’s not one of my Surges.”

“That’s okay,” he said, shaking his head. “We all have our flaws.”

“Ha.” Shallan smiled. “You must be feeling better if you’re willing to poke fun at me.” She looked down, tugging at her sleeve. Pattern was buzzing. “I know that Dalinar’s secrets bother you. Secrets can hurt. But I have secrets. You have secrets. All we can do is work through them.”

_ She _ is _ a mindreader. _Just as he was about to say as much, footsteps echoed down the hall. Adolin spun around to see who it was.

Kaladin walked towards them, eyes bright. “Adolin! I’ve been looking for you.”

Adolin sighed, leaning on the wall. “Do I want to know?”

“Yes,” Kaladin said without preamble. “You’re needed for a mission.”

Adolin perked up, standing up straight. “A mission? Me?” He could see Shallan glancing between him and Kaladin.

“Again, yes.” Kaladin nodded toward a random direction; Adolin thought it might be east. “One of the Brightladies didn’t respond to our summons and refused to meet with one of the Squires. The town she presides over isn’t large, but it _ is _situated in a leeward spot that makes for good protection from the Everstorm.”

“What about protection from highstorms?” asked Shallan.

“That, too,” said Kaladin. “They’ve got prime spots for food storage, weapons caches, medical supplies… It’s a good location. We could use their support.”

Adolin shrugged. “I mean, that’s great and all, but Bridgeboy—what’s this got to do with me?”

Kaladin shook his head. “I seem to remember you saying that Jasnah had the meeting handled. That you couldn’t contribute.” He pointed at Adolin, who stared at the finger suspiciously. “Well, here’s where you _ can _contribute.”

“How do you figure?”

“You see the people of Alethkar as Alethi, not lighteyes and darkeyes. You’ve proven time and again that you’re an honorable man.” He paused, shifting awkwardly. He looked at Adolin’s outfit. “Even if you spend too much time in front of a mirror.”

Adolin couldn’t help but smile. “You could use some time in front of the mirror yourself.”

“Boys, boys,” Shallan cut in. “Adolin, it sounds like this Brightlady wasn’t willing to talk to just anyone.” She looked at Kaladin, eyes narrowed. “But I’ll bet she’d talk to a highprince, right? Perhaps one of Alethkar’s most eligible bachelors?”

Adolin startled. “But we’re marri—”

Shallan hushed him. “She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t need to know, not until she agrees to meet with the Knights.” She smiled at Kaladin. “Sneaky. I like it.”

“I figured you would.”

Adolin groaned. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” said Kaladin. He sounded almost cheerful. “But you _will_ get a small squadron of newly minted Squires. I have some green Windrunners that could use some guidance from an experienced leader.”

Adolin’s ears were burning. “I’m not as good as all that.”

“I wouldn’t say if it weren’t true.” He shook his head. “Syl would never let me hear the end of it.” He looked down the hall. “I have to go. Will you be ready to leave tomorrow evening?”

Adolin nodded. “Of course. From what gate?”

“The Shattered Plains. But wear something...aerodynamic. You won’t just be using the Oathgate.”

“Wait, don’t tell me…” Adolin groaned. There was a wicked look in Kaladin’s eyes.

Shallan tried to hide her smile behind her safehand sleeve, but she wasn’t fast enough. Kaladin didn’t bother to smother his grin.


	11. Gale

Adolin packed for the journey, sorting through his sturdy clothing and his travel gear with a discerning eye. The familiarity was a comfort. It was such a relief to be sent away from Urithiru, to do something _ useful, _that he almost wished he’d suggested it himself. The fact that someone asked for him specifically lifted his mood more than he cared to admit.

_ Perhaps it was Father who suggested it…? _

Rather than spending time moping in his room, he decided to get in some training before the journey that evening. It had been a long time since he’d practiced with his sword. The training grounds were busy, but he didn’t mind. He belonged there.

As Adolin summoned Maya, he grinned. This was the proper time for a Shardblade. His forms were rusty, but they felt _ right. _

The room smelled of old sweat, of blood from spars gone sour. The clanging of metal and wooden staves was noisy, so loud that all other thoughts were drowned out.

Before he knew it, the sun was dipping low. He left the grounds, sweetly aching. He needed to change and head to the platform soon.

Shallan was in their room, sitting at the desk and sketching something in her book. When she looked at him, he smiled, and something about his face made her light up. She blinked, and he wondered if she was capturing a memory. “Have a good training session?” she asked.

“A _ great _training session,” he said. “I feel like I could take down Odium himself right now.”

“Sounds like I’ll be out of a job after this mission, then.”

He laughed, and he reveled in the sound of it.

He still felt worry in the back of his mind, insidious and lurking, but he pushed it aside, focusing on _ this _ moment, _ these _feelings.

Ж

The two of them walked to the Oathgate for the Shattered Plains. He remembered the night he’d stumbled here, demanding Renarin let him through. It wasn’t that long ago, was it? Maybe he should have talked to his brother again before this mission...

Adolin felt a spike of anxiety working its way into his good mood, but he shoved it aside.

Shallan looked at him, her eyes roaming his face as if searching for something. She bit her lip. “Maybe you should talk to Dalinar before you leave.” she said. “He might have something else for you to do.”

Adolin blanched. _ I can’t. I can’t right now— _

Shallan saw the look on his face and held up her hands. “Fine, fine,” she amended. She gently touched his cheek. “You can talk to him when you’re ready. There’s no shame in that.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.

“Ahem.”

Adolin’s eyes shot open, and he turned to see Kaladin standing there, eyebrow raised. Shallan lowered her hand, blushing.

“Here is your squad, Adolin.” Kaladin nodded towards the small group behind him, a nervous-looking bunch of soldiers wearing starched blues. Stormfather, but they looked young. Only one of the four looked as if he’d seen battle before.

Adolin and Kaladin spoke of particulars for a moment, with Kaladin handing over a map and some additional supplies. He pointed out the spot where they’d make camp, a small ways off from the town.

“I’ve got it, Bridgeboy.”

Kaladin nodded. “Yes, I’ll leave the rest up to you.” He handed over a spanreed. “This spanreed is connected to the tower. Be sure to check in with a glyph every so often.” He paused. “You’ll do great.”

Adolin rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes. I’m not made of glass—hey!” His uniform jacket flapped in an unseen breeze. “Was that Syl?”

Kaladin’s lips twitched.

Adolin looked to his squad, who had been watching his interactions with Kaladin in mute awe. One soldier in particular, a skinny boy with unruly curls, looked starstruck. “Go on, men. Go to the platform. I’ll be right there.”

He watched them shuffle over to the center of the platform. Kaladin nodded and walked to the control mechanism, waiting for the go-ahead.

Before he left, Adolin called Shallan over. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but… I’ll miss you.”

“Of course you will,” she said. Then she leaned in, wrapping her arms around him in a brief, tight hug. “I’ll miss you too. Stay safe.” 

As he pulled away, walking over to his gathered men, she yelled, “So help me, if you don’t come back soon, I _ will _send another flock of Windrunners after you.”

Kaladin said something, but this words were cut out by a sudden gust of wind. Adolin thought he heard the words “storming woman.”

Adolin felt happiness bubbling in his chest, and it was such a warm, fond feeling that he wanted to laugh, right there on the platform.

_ You’re better than you think. _

The voice came as a whisper, buried deep. He held it close as the landscape blurred around him.


	12. Torrent

Flying was as awful as Adolin remembered. He felt sick, as if he were being tossed from wave to wave in an unyielding sea. The Windrunner carrying him, one of the young-faced soldier boys, kept yelling apologies that got swallowed up by the wind.

“Sor—”

“Just a little furth—”

“Hold on—”

Adolin couldn’t figure out a way to get him to stop apologizing.

The balmy night was a good cover for their flight. The Windrunners still shimmered with Stormlight, a beacon for those who knew what to look for, but even the spheres that powered their Surges were wrapped in fabric and stored in boxes to avert enemy eyes.

When he felt less nauseated, Adolin looked down at the lights in the towns below. He thought of Kaladin’s hometown. Would it look like strands of twinkling lights, or more like sparse stars reflected in a dark ocean? What about Shallan’s estates?

“We’re almost there!”

Adolin closed his eyes and thanked the Almighty that he’d see land soon.

Ж

Once they landed, Adolin borrowed one of the Windrunners’ infused spheres to check the map. They’d landed near the outskirts of town, on a small road passing by a few homesteads. They still needed to go a bit further to avoid camping on anyone’s land.

“I’d complain about you landing too early,” said Adolin, “but honestly, that wasn’t early enough.”

The boy squeaked. His skin was dark, darker than Adolin’s, but he seemed to go pale. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant.” Adolin laughed. “I just don’t like flying.”

The boy looked relieved. “Oh! That’s good. I haven’t been on a mission yet, sir. I hope I do you proud!”

“What’s your name?”

“Tenrol, sir!”

Adolin nodded, looking at the three other members of the squadron. He asked them for their names. The skinny, curly-haired boy was Val. The battle-worn older man was Shadrin. The last member, a quiet, bald-headed young man, called himself Ig.

“Well,” said Adolin brightly, “this might be a short mission, but let’s make it a good one!”

Ж

They made camp after passing by the last homestead, laying out bedrolls and unpacking supplies. Adolin spotted a few small granaries and storage buildings off in the distance. Hopefully the landowner wouldn’t see them this far out.

Everyone was too excited to sleep, whether from breathing in Stormlight or feeling nerves from their first real mission. Adolin couldn’t say the same—the flight had exhausted him, and all the other stresses he’d been feeling seemed to rush at him all at once. He’d pushed himself too hard.

Still, these were his men, and he’d do right by them.

They decided not to light a fire so close to the town, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence just yet. Their rations didn’t need to be heated. Secretly, Adolin was relieved. He hadn’t wanted to test his reaction to the fire, not yet. Tenrol still had stars in his eyes, and even Shadrin seemed to respect Adolin’s reputation for battle.

Shallan was one thing, but these men didn’t want the truth.

It made Adolin consider his father’s actions a bit more. He still felt sick to his stomach thinking of the role this father had played in the events of Rathalas. But he’d never let Shallan finish the book. Perhaps there was more to the story. Perhaps…

Adolin’s eyes felt heavy. He said good night to his men, then crawled to his bedroll and gave in to sleep.


	13. Interlude: Windbreak

_Hold hearts fast, _  
_ barbed and dagger-sharp _  
_ Lies like honey; sweet honey-like lies _  
_ Sharp daggers and barbs _  
_ Fast hearts hold_

Ж

Renarin paces in his room, trodding over worn paths on the stone floor. Beside him, Glys hovers like a thought.

“I hope Adolin will be okay,” he mutters, partly to himself and partly to his spren. Glys has never been particularly chatty, but Renarin’s gotten more comfortable talking to him, even if he doesn’t respond. He’s a misfit, just like Renarin. A spren who doesn’t belong.

The air is warm, so Renarin removes his uniform jacket, a Bridge Four patch clearly visible on the shoulder. He debates whether it needs laundering. It’s not like he’s done anything to get it dirty, not lately. His training has been set aside for the moment as he and Jasnah look through old records to determine the Radiants’ next course of action.

It’s been nice to get more involved in the tower’s research. When Renarin had been itching to look at Urithiru’s archives ages ago, he’d felt the eyes of all the women in the room, a discomfort made more acute by his unease with crowds.

Just as he’d felt a swell of panic, his father had stepped in, sitting with the women and carving out a space for him at the meeting.

It’s this memory, one of the many memories Renarin holds close, that allows him to push aside the dark thoughts that haunt him about his father’s past.

_ People change. _

The jacket is clean enough, he decides. He lays it across the back of a chair.

Glys spins around Renarin questioningly. The spren can feel his concern.

Renarin is still stuck on the idea of Adolin leading a mission with such a new group of Windrunners. He’s pretty sure that they’ve only just sworn the ideals. He hasn’t spoken with his brother since that night on the Oathgate platform, but that one interaction has left Renarin with a lingering sense of dread.

_ Why won’t he talk with me? _

The Voidbringers’ numbers are growing with each slain Parshendi, and it feels as if the world is balanced on a chasm’s edge.

Glys sends Renarin feelings of comfort, a sensation of warmth and connection. Glys doesn’t talk much, but neither did Renarin until lately. They understand each other.

He hopes Adolin has someone to confide in like this—even if that someone is no longer him. 

Ж

The vision hits Renarin with the suddenness of one of his fits.

He sees Adolin, his clothing tattered, a tear at his sleeve. Around him, small buildings are aflame. Voidbringers fly through the red-tinged smoke, swarming like insects around his brother. He looks exhausted.

Adolin parries a blow with his Shardblade, then slices through one of the Voidbringers’ carapace-covered arms. The Voidbringer shrieks and falls, but there’s so much happening. The smoke and the armor and the fire, it all becomes a haze of red and black.

For a moment, everything blurs, running together.

Then there’s a hole in Adolin’s chest, his broken rib cage peeking out from charred skin. His face grows ashen, and his eyes clench shut. The last thing Renarin sees is Adolin collapsing to the ground in a heap, red blooming across his body like a rockbud.


	14. Tempest

Adolin woke up to the smell of smoke.

At first, he thought he was still in his nightmare. He’d spent the night fitfully tossing and turning, seeing his mother’s face blacken and break apart as she was consumed by fire. But this fire wasn’t a dream. This fire was _ real. _

“Sir!” It was Tenrol, his voice squeaking with anxiety. “The homestead… it’s on fire!”

Adolin got up, pushing through the dread and horror. He looked to the small buildings he’d seen the night before. The air was thick with smoke, and he could barely see them in the haze. Huge red-orange flames shot into the air, practically touching the early-morning sun. The world burned crimson in the distance.

“Kelek’s breath,” he swore, and he tugged on his boots. Tenrol was waking up the others, most of whom were still sound asleep. Only Shadrin was awake. He had a stormy look on his face.

“I’m going ahead,” he said, not bothering to wait. “There might be people who need help!”

He ran, trusting that the Windrunners would catch up soon.

Ж

The fire tore through the granary, blackening the structure and searing it with lines of red-hot ember. The blaze grew larger as it consumed more and more of the stored grain, and flamespren danced on the ground below. The air glowed red and black.

“Anyone there? Hey!” Adolin called out. He ran, coughing as he inhaled smoke. He pulled his jacket over his mouth, breathing through the fabric. His eyes burned. “Hey!”

There was movement behind the granary, and Adolin darted forward.

_ If I can save just one person… _

He didn’t see the blade slicing downward until it was nearly too late. By reflex, he jumped to the side. The blade caught the fabric of his sleeve, ripping it to the hem and leaving it in tatters. He pulled away before the heated metal could touch his skin.

His heart thudded, and shockspren formed around him, breaking and scattering. He couldn’t believe his eyes. This was supposed to be a simple diplomatic mission_…_

Voidbringers swooped in, like stormwinds, like ruinous flames. There were four of them, two of whom jumped with lithe, graceful precision. He could barely see them for all the smoke.

The one closest to him attacked again, blade thrusting at his chest. He ducked, and he could feel the rush of air overhead. He kicked out, catching the Voidbringer’s leg and knocking them down to the dirt. They disappeared beneath the thick, smoky blanket hovering just above the ground.

_ Maya! _He reached out, willing her to manifest in his outstretched hand. He didn’t count heartbeats. His heart was beating so fast, it might as well have been a single, sustained note.

As a second Voidbringer tried to sneak up on him from behind, he spun, Maya in hand. The blade made a circular slash, catching both his attackers at once. Maya caught the first Voidbringer in the arm, slicing through with a sizzling hiss as the now disarmed attacker howled a curse. She caught the second in the neck, and the Voidbringer hit the ground in a clatter of carapace.

He jabbed Maya forward, ripping upwards through the fallen Voidbringer’s body before they could stand.

_ What now?! _

The smoke rippled. He didn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before the third Voidbringer, clinging to shadow, lunged toward him.

Again relying on instincts, he moved Maya in front of him, parrying the blow and knocking the blade aside. He slashed, striking them in their sword arm and forcing them to drop the blade with their dead limb. Their other arm moved in for a punch, and the hit struck Adolin in the shoulder, spinning him and catching him off-balance. He fell, hitting the ground and nearly losing his grip on Maya.

_ Like we practiced,_ he thought. In desperation, he threw Maya at the rushing Voidbringer. His aim was true. She speared them in the chest, cleaving through them like they were made of the surrounding smoke.

Adolin listened to the crackle of the fire. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, but there were no footsteps, no yells. He pushed through the dark memories that lurked beneath the battle rush. _Everything will be fine!_

“Storms!” Adolin’s breath was ragged. He coughed. The smoke was starting to get to him, his head pounding with a headache and his vision dimming. Where was the last Voidbringer?

“Hey!” came a yell from above. “Sir, where are you?”

_Tenrol. _Relief hit Adolin like firemoss. “There’s a Voidbringer!” he yelled. His throat felt sore. “Stay alert!”

“Yes, sir!”

Adolin woozily got back to his feet. He waved away smoke, searching for the Voidbringer’s corpse. Finding it, he pulled Maya from their speared chest, then settled into a guard position. He slowly made his way out of the smoke and into daylight. When he saw the four Windrunners hovering overhead, he nearly wept.

Things were fine enough, for now. He would keep moving forward.


	15. Squall

They never found the last Voidbringer. Tenrol kept apologizing, and Ig seemed confused as to what had just happened. Adolin watched their reactions carefully, considering his plans.

Shadrin, whom Adolin suspected had seen his share of battle, looked angry, as if frustrated by the attack. His scarred face was furrowed.

Adolin had never felt so at a loss. He’d led plenty of troops, but they’d all been battle-trained, and had used weapons of steel, not storm. This group could fly, and they were eager to save Roshar, but Kaladin was right in that they were completely new to fighting.

_ Why did Kaladin send them on a mission so soon? _

Adolin knew that Kaladin had a protective instinct for new recruits. He must not have considered that Voidbringers would be nearby. Had he scouted the area? Or had this mission come from his father, not Kaladin?

He had always idolized his father, his keen sense of the battlefield. He’d seen him as a man of the people. Was this mission really such a good idea, with such new recruits, with such tumult in Roshar? His thoughts kept whirring, never quite settling on a good answer.

He wondered if he should send a message via spanreed, to try to request backup. Maybe he should leave. He wasn’t a Radiant. Could he do this?

_They trusted me with this mission,_ he thought._ I just have to talk to the Brightlady. I can finish that today. But the men..._

“Sir?”

Adolin looked over to see Val staring at him. His hair was wild around his face, curling upwards like a halo. His face was smudged with soot. “Yes…?” Adolin said, not sure of what the boy wanted. He hadn’t so much as spoken two words to Adolin since the previous night.

“I…”

“…?”

Val took a breath. “I hope I can fight like you someday,” he said.

Adolin made a decision.

Ж

“This mission has become more dangerous,” Adolin said.

He looked at the four Windrunners in turn, giving each of them long, hard look. They’d made their way back to camp to clean up, although they’d had to use up their potable water to do so. They’d need more supplies if talks with the Brightlady went sour.

The smell of smoke clung to Adolin’s hair, even though the worst of it was gone after he’d changed clothes. He pushed thoughts of his mother aside, though it hurt to do so. He felt for his mother’s necklace, which he’d put on before leaving Urithiru. It had never felt so lucky.

He took a breath. “Ig, Val? I want you to return to Urithiru.”

Val looked shocked, though he didn’t say anything. Ig nodded. He didn’t seem surprised at all.

“Wait!” cried Tenrol. He glanced at Ig and Val, then back at Adolin. “Why are you sending them away?”

Adolin sighed. “They aren’t ready for another attack. They could get hurt, or worse. I don’t want to send soldiers away, but circumstances have changed.” He gestured to their supplies. “We’re running low on water, and we need more medical supplies. We can’t support five people with our current holdings.”

“But—”

Adolin looked at Val. “Can you reliably use a Shardblade?” The boy looked down, not meeting Adolin’s eyes.

Ig spoke softly. “I think it’s a wise decision.” He laid a hand on his chest. “I don’t feel as if I can support you in battle. I don’t want to be a hindrance.” He lowered his head. “I will overcome this. I will train, and I will return.”

Val opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked frustrated, but he nodded.

“Good,” said Adolin. “I want you to fly back and let Urithiru know I’ll be staying a little longer. Tell them about the Voidbringers. Hopefully I can convince Brightlady Revali to agree to ally with us. I will send a glyph.”

Tenrol cleared his throat. “Um… sir? What about me and Shadrin?”

Adolin glanced at Shadrin. Truth be told, he could use the help. If the man was at all handy with a blade, then he’d be an asset if the missing Voidbringer returned. Shadrin glared, as if daring Adolin to send him away.

“Shadrin will stay,” Adolin said. “I believe he has enough battle experience to handle a second attack and to support me on my return trip.” Shadrin nodded. “As for you…”

“I’m not leaving!” Tenrol’s face was splotchy with anger. “I joined the Windrunners to fight Voidbringers, and right when one shows up, you try to send me away? No! I refuse.”

Adolin’s heart felt heavy. He had to salvage this mission, even if there was a risk. “I was going to give you a choice,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve decided.”

_Whatever happens, I’ll just have to overcome it._


	16. Interlude: Clemency

_ Gift a thought, _  
_ consider in wisdom _  
_ Desolate, they fight; fighting, they desolate _  
_ Wisdom in consideration _  
_ Thought: a gift_

Ж

Being queen is about as troublesome as Jasnah expected.

She’s not _incompetent. _Delegating tasks is simple, and she’s skilled at commanding subjects to work towards a goal. A leader needs to be able to discern future actions through causal connections, and her scholarship and life spent among Alethi royalty has gifted her with that capacity.

No, the problem with being queen is being unable to work on personal projects. Her own scholarship has to wait until food shortages, infrastructure, and the _ stormcursed Desolations _are resolved.

So troublesome.

Jasnah sighs, and attends to counsel.

Ж

After listening to her advisers speak, and disagreeing with them on several points, Jasnah leaves the petitioner’s hall and begins walking to her study, where a large stack of notes is piled up, waiting for her scrutiny. She’ll speak with Renarin later about his visions, but for now, she’s creating a nomenclature of omen signifiers as referred to in Listener lore.

_ Perhaps Renarin’s spren creates truths based on a completely unique semantic array... _

As she turns a corner, lost in thought, Jasnah sees her ward standing with a group of soldiers at the lift. The girl is talking animatedly with one of them, a grizzled man who looks a bit sheepish. Jasnah smiles to herself.

Shallan herself is capable of rich scholarship, and Jasnah would like to assign her to study omens, but the girl is far more interested in spywork than study. Jasnah won’t pull rank. Far be it from her to stifle the girl’s explorations of her Surges.

“Your Majesty,” says one of the soldiers with a bow.

“Jasnah!” cries Shallan. She’s grinning. “How are you?”

“Do you want an answer, or is this simply idle conversation?”

Shallan huffs in annoyance. “I haven’t seen you in a while, so I suppose I’m interested in your well-being, but we can talk about the weather if you’d like?” She points towards a window. “An observational study has concluded: it is sunny.”

Jasnah smiles. “You’ve made your point. I’m doing well, Shallan. If you’ll accompany me to my study?”

Shallan nods, and they enter the lift together. They don’t say anything as it moves downward; perhaps the girl is waiting for her to pick a topic. “Are you… well?” Jasnah finally asks.

A buzz fills the cramped carriage, and Jasnah suspects it’s the liespren.

_Laughter?_

There’s a smile on Shallan’s face. “I’m doing fine, Jasnah. You can talk about your studies, if you’d like. I don’t mind. Almighty knows I haven’t had time to work on any scholarship since the marriage.”

“And how do you like being…married?” Jasnah thinks that she would hate it, being yoked like a chull.

“I’m actually really glad you arranged this,” says Shallan. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten that it’s all thanks to you that I get to see Adolin’s face every morning.” She pauses, and a strange look passes over her face.

“Is something displeasing?”

“What? Oh!” Shallan blushes. “No, that’s—Adolin’s amazing. He’s—”

Jasnah holds up a hand to forestall Shallan’s chatter. She has no intention of listening to Shallan talk about her cousin in _ any _sort of romantic way.

The girl nods, and there’s another lull in conversation, not uncomfortable. Jasnah feels herself sway as the lift stops and settles at the appropriate floor. The air in the lowest levels of the tower smells of dirt and ozone, and a mild earthy aroma accompanies them as they exit the carriage and walk down the hall. Jasnah ignores the bows of the people they pass.

“What’s wrong, Shallan?”

Shallan looks at Jasnah unblinkingly. She opens her mouth, closes it, seems to consider her words. The girl is like a fish.

Finally, Shallan says, “Adolin’s having a difficult time right now.”

“Yes, the truth about Rathalas.”

There’s a stubborn set to Shallan’s jaw. “No, not just that. Obviously he needs to talk to Dalinar, and I know what it’s like to lose a parent”—she nods to Jasnah respectfully, who tries not to think of her own father—“but I think it might be something else.”

They’ve arrived at Jasnah’s study, but it would be rude to exit the conversation just now. Jasnah won’t do that to her ward.

“I think…” Shallan reddens again. Perhaps she could use Lightweaving to control the blush? “I think that he’s upset that he’s not a Radiant.”

Jasnah blinks. “Oh?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

“I mean, maybe it’s not that exactly, but he’s so down on himself, and he won’t talk about Radiant things with me anymore, and I worry about the way he doesn’t see himself as being a good person, and—”

_ It _is_ strange, _Jasnah thinks, _ that Adolin is without a bond. He may hide it, but he's suffered enough for any broken soul._

Jasnah raises her hand again, and Shallan grows quiet. “There’s only a small window of time in which I can study. I must now depart.” She feels her forehead wrinkle. _In worry? Surely not. _

“I thank you for speaking with me,” she continues. “When Adolin returns, we can look into the matter further.”

Shallan sighs, nodding respectfully before she takes her leave. Jasnah walks into her study and pulls out her notes on the Nahel bond.


	17. Deluge

“You’re more handsome than expected.”

Brightlady Revali’s voice was as cloying as simberry jam, and Adolin felt himself being pulled in by her words despite himself. She was beautiful, with curling hair draped over her shoulders and rich, dark skin. Her dress was fashionably low-cut, baring far more skin than Shallan would ever dare show in public.

Thinking of Shallan shook Adolin out of his reverie. _ You’re a married man, Adolin. Stop staring! _

“Thank you,” he finally said. It seemed like a safe option.

“So, you think so highly of my opinion, hm? What do you think of me?”

_ Or not! _

“Um,” he said, floundering for words. “We have only just had the chance to meet, but I look forward to learning more about you.”

“A boring answer,” she said with a sigh. She leaned forward, and Adolin stared up at her hairline with an intense focus. “What was your request? I never heard the details from your first messenger.”

_ Because you wouldn’t meet with them! _

Adolin hadn’t much felt like meeting with the Brightlady, not with the chaos of the morning. His lungs still ached from breathing in so much smoke, and he kept blinking his eyes, trying to clear his blurred vision. Her gaudy sitting room looked like smears of color.

But this was his mission, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was speaking with pretty women.

“We would like to discuss the possibility of you allying with the Knights Radiant, and by extension, Urithiru, in an effort to fight against the coming Desolation.”

“Very dramatic,” she drawled.

“I hope you’ll agree to work together with us.” He gave her a serious look, one that was entreating yet respectable. He added a smile for good measure.

“How does the town benefit?”

Adolin blinked. _That _was her question? He found himself growing irritated, his smile slipping.

“The benefit,” he said, sharper than intended, “is that your town survives the war that will soon rage across Roshar.”

She ignored his sharp tone. “I suppose that’s reasonable,” she said. Then she smiled, her full lips pouting. “But I’m far more interested in _ you.” _

_ Stormfather save me from this woman! _

He didn’t want to outright lie to her. What had lies gotten him so far? But he could tell Brightlady Revali was used to getting what she wanted.

“If I agree to meet with you in Urithiru, say, in a week’s time, _ to talk about the mission of the Knights Radiant, _would you tentatively agree to an alliance?”

He wouldn’t lead her on. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. If she chose to hear what she wanted to hear, that was her problem, not his.

“Adolin Kholin,” she purred, “I’d ally myself with you any day.”

He felt a prickle on the back of his neck. His hands were sweaty. _ Steady, _ he thought. _ Think of what Shallan would say! _

Actually, she’d probably find this whole situation hilarious.

“Then we are in accord,” he said, his words formal. He bowed. “I will be leaving on the morrow. We will send a Knight to meet with you to draw up plans.”

“Fine, fine,” she said. “Although if you’d like to meet later tonight, I wouldn’t say no…”

At those words, Adolin, Alethkar’s former most eligible bachelor, fled the room.


	18. Surge

“How’d it go?” asked Tenrol. “Did you get her to agree to come to the tower?”

“...maybe?” Adolin scratched at his cheek. “I mean, she’s willing to visit Urithiru.” _ But she thinks it’s a date. I’ll have to let her down easy. Storms! _

“You did it, sir! That’s fantastic!” Tenrol beamed at Adolin. “We should celebrate. Drinks are on you tonight, right?”

“Wait, when did I—”

“We all talked about it last night, sir.” He paused. “After you fell asleep. Shadrin suggested it. If you completed the mission successfully, you’d buy us drinks at the tavern.”

“How can I have agreed to that if I was asleep?” Adolin squinted at the buildings lining the road just outside the Brightlady’s estate. “This town has a tavern?”

Tenrol nodded. “There’s a small one just a road over.” He grinned. “Come on, isn’t it normal for soldiers to relax after a successful mission? Cut back, let loose, and all that?”

Adolin returned the grin. “According to the Codes, you shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

Tenrol’s face paled. “Oh, I mean… Sir, I didn’t—”

It was so familiar to him, him grumbling about the Codes to his father, that Adolin laughed. Those were simpler days. “I’ll buy you and Shadrin a round of orange wine. How does that sound?”

Tenrol looked ecstatic.

Ж

Shadrin was nowhere to be found. Tenrol swore he’d been scouting the road near the tavern, but when they headed over to where he’d last been, the scarred man wasn’t there.

“That’s strange, isn’t it?” said Tenrol. “I hope he didn’t get snatched away by a Voidbringer.”

Adolin looked around. There weren’t any people on the street right now, but there were enough occupied buildings nearby that someone should have raised a fuss if a Voidbringer had flown in. Shadrin had disappeared on his own.

“Do you think he’s a deserter?” Tenrol asked. He looked nervous, as if being alone with Adolin was somehow more terrifying than dealing with Voidbringers. He was the only one left from their squad, for better or worse.

“I wonder…” Adolin hummed thoughtfully. “It would be strange for him to join the Knights Radiant only to desert. We have a few deserters in our ranks from those who left during the plateau battles, but they had reason to leave. What sort of reason could he have had?”

“Wouldn’t deserting hurt the spren?”

Adolin shrugged. “I don’t know much about it. I’m not a Radiant.”

Tenrol looked shocked. “I… I thought you were! The way you fight—”

“Anyway,” said Adolin, cutting in, “I suppose we’ll just have to ask him if we see him again. We can deal with it later. For now, let’s head back to camp, okay? You’ll be the only one to fly me back tomorrow.” He felt faintly nauseated at the thought.

“Don’t worry!” Tenrol said. He reached into his pocket and held out a glowing sphere. “I have a ridiculous amount of Stormlight. I’ll be fine.”

Adolin groaned. “You brought it all with you? What if someone tries to rob you?”

“They’d be stupid to rob a Radiant,” he scoffed. “Anyway, don’t you owe me a drink?”

Ж

The orange wine flowed freely that night.

The two of them meandered back from the tavern. Despite Adolin’s protests, the boy had snuck in an order of violet wine and had downed the glass before Adolin could snatch it away.

“Ugh!” Tenrol had cried, sputtering after chugging it down. “That tastes disgusting!”

“Serves you right if you get a headache.”

That violet wine had hit the boy hard. Each step he took back to camp was wobblier than the last, and his eyes were shaky and unfocused. Adolin had a bad feeling that tomorrow’s flight would be particularly bumpy.

They were soon back near the squat buildings from that morning’s battle. The char was still fresh on the buildings, black and cracked like the Shattered Plains. Even though the fire had been put out, there were still wisps of smoke curling up into the night air.

Adolin suddenly felt a chill. “Listen,” he said, walking more briskly, “I’m going to go scout ahead. Stay here and—”

Tenrol let out a keening cry that abruptly cut short. As Adolin turned around, his stomach flipped. There stood Shadrin, Shardblade in hand.


	19. Lightning

Shadrin ran towards Adolin, his blade held overhead in a white-knuckled grip. Dirt and ash kicked up behind him.

Adolin summoned Maya. She appeared almost immediately. Shadrin swung down, and Adolin blocked the blow, grateful that he’d only had orange wine. As he tried to shift his stance, he tripped over something. It was Tenrol’s corpse, his burned-out eyes staring up at nothing.

Adolin’s gut twisted. “Aren’t you a Radiant?” he roared. “Aren’t you fighting against Odium?”

“Don’t lump me in with your Windrunners!” Shadrin yelled. He was sweating. His form was all over the place, his weight unbalanced and his arms lashing out wildly. His moves were fueled by agitation rather than assessment. That made him unpredictable—and dangerous. 

He swung down again, and Adolin barely dodged the blow, warm air rushing past. “Unlike you, I fight against injustice!” Shadrin yelled. Spittle frothed at his lips.

_ What in Damnation?! _

Shadrin wasn’t as graceful, but somehow he reminded Adolin of the Assassin. Those bright eyes, the unchecked zeal. Not a Windrunner, but still able to fly… Something clicked.

“A Skybreaker? How did he—” Adolin muttered, before speaking louder. “Why are you fighting against us? You should want a united Roshar!”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he slammed Maya down onto Shadrin, who caught the blow with his own blade. The force behind it sent the other man sprawling, giving Adolin a chance to catch his breath. His head was spinning.

A Skybreaker hidden among the Windrunners. A call for justice, not unity.

He thought of his father and the Blackthorn, two men who had worked toward unification. One man used conquest; the other, diplomacy. Both had shaped Adolin into the man he’d become. How many times had he pushed aside his feelings, only to let them boil over at the worst possible time? How many times had the same thing happened with his father?

Shadrin was like a broken mirror.

The Skybreaker stumbled to his feet, pressing the attack. Another swing, and the blade sliced through the air right near Adolin’s sleeve, nicking the fabric.

“I don’t understand—” Adolin tried to say, but Shadrin was flinging his sword around in dangerous, erratic arcs. Adolin blocked a blow aimed at his head, then ducked and leaped to the side to avoid the backswing.

“You lied…” said Shadrin, eyes burning, body trembling with righteous fury. “You told all those Brightlords and Brightladies that the Knights Radiant were fighting Voidbringers.” Adolin could see him work his jaw. “But the truth… The Knights are the Voidbringers. Odium is on the side of justice.”

Adolin lunged. He hefted his weight and managed a cut down the man’s arm, slicing Maya through skin and muscle. The arm deadened at his side, though Shadrin seemed unphased.

“How do you know what we told them?” asked Adolin.

“I was there, in the tower!”Shadrin cried. “Don’t deny what I saw with my own eyes!”

With that, Shadrin breathed in Stormlight. It wreathed around him, briefly illuminating Tenrol’s corpse in a white light. The arm that Adolin had cut, the gray, dead limb, regained its color. The man clenched his renewed hand into a fist.

“Your meeting was nothing but poison,” he said. His voice had lost its manic edge. He sounded almost calm. “The others can still be led to the truth. Ig and Val… there was no need to hurt them.” He grimaced. “It’s a shame Tenrol stayed. It was supposed to just be you. You, falling in battle. One liar down.”

Adolin remembered flashes of light in a busy hallway, Stormlight he’d thought had belonged to Kaladin. Urithiru had been infiltrated. When had he become a target?

His anger, his sadness, his bitterness… Something broke inside him. He finally admitted the truth to the one person who needed it most: himself.

_I am _not_ fine._

“This… No. Odium isn’t justice,” Adolin said. His breaths were painful; he felt drained. “Justice is reconciliation. Justice is unity. _ This_,” he said, pointing to Tenrol, “_isn’t justice!” _

Adolin rushed in. He had the training, the hours drilling forms. He had Master Zahel’s breathing techniques, and his own Calling with the sword. Maya was a part of him. Shadrin tried to pull away, but Adolin surged forward, ignoring his pains, letting something other than the Thrill overtake him.

He felt a sharp, acrid burn as the Skybreaker’s hand slapped against his chest. It didn’t matter. Shadrin couldn’t escape now.

Adolin gave Maya one last swing, aiming her so that she cut through both the arm and neck. The man’s eyes burned out, and he collapsed, his hand pulling away from Adolin with a blackened palm.

There was a bone-deep pain, so much worse than anything he’d ever felt before. As he looked down, Adolin saw his chest being burned away, pulverized into a wet slurry of blood and bone, like water and ashes stirred together to douse a fire.

He smelled smoke. He saw stars.

Adolin tumbled to the ground in a wordless cry.


	20. Thunder

Adolin stared at Mishim’s green light reflecting on the insides of his gaping chest, the wet redness of blood becoming a mottled brown. He should have been in agony, but all he could think of was how the night was growing cold.

He tried to suck in a breath, but the air curdled in his lungs. His thoughts were starting to dissipate, just like the pain. Small orange hands clawed at him. They began to tug at his exposed ribs, fingers sinking into his wounds.

He thought about Renarin rushing in to heal him, like in the battle at Theylan City. Thought of Kaladin flying down, surgical tools held in glowing hands.

Neither were here. Storm it all, he was alone.

There were no more battle cries, not with the Skybreaker lying motionless, his Stormlight fading. There was no clanging of weapon against weapon. Adolin was dying, and the world was still.

He thought about Shallan, and Kaladin, and Renarin, and all the important people in his life. His heart ached.

He thought of his father. Even here, the Blackthorn’s legacy loomed. But what was legacy but an anchor? A man could move beyond his past… right?

_ Father, _ he thought_, I wish we'd had a chance to talk. _

Maya remained in his grip, though her handle was slippery with his blood. Even the delicate crystalline shapes near her hilt were marred with red. He thought of Captain Ico, on the ship they’d chartered in Shadesmar. He thought of the captain’s disdain at him calling Maya a friend.

_ You _ are _ my friend_, he thought.

He listened to the gurgle of his own breath. At least he’d die a soldier.

_ Never… alone… _

The thought came to him, unbidden. A whisper.

He blinked blearily. His vision was growing hazy. The black skies leached into the surroundings, everything growing dark. 

_ …words… _

The thought took shape. A voice? It was insistent.

“Ma…ya?” he muttered. He couldn’t tell if his heart still beat in his chest, or if he was already dead. Perhaps he was in the throes of a death rattle, his corpse crying unseeing into the dark.

_ Say… words…! _

He closed his eyes. It felt as if he were sinking into an empty vastness.

_ Say the Words! _

Even without sound, even with his mind slipping away, Adolin could swear that Maya was yelling. That she was grasping for him like all those orange hands.

He knew what she was asking for. He _ knew. _ But should he say them? _ Could _he? He wasn’t sure if his lungs even worked anymore.

Maya reached him, clawing and clutching. A lifeline in the dark.

“Life before death,” he croaked. Thick, viscous blood poured from his mouth. “S-strength before weakness.”

Before death? He_ was _death.

“Journey before…”

One last breath. Everything fuzzed away into pitch-black darkness.

“_…_desti_…_nation…”


	21. Interlude: Stormlight

_Life, then death_  
_Words, then silence_  
_ Light rises up, uprising light _  
_ Silence, then words _  
_ Death, then life_

Ж

Mayalaran is old enough to know better. She _ should _know better, but her mind… Her thoughts are like thin wisps of Stormlight, floating away as she grasps for them with her crystalline hands.

Still, she’s fairly certain of one thing: trying to form a bond is a terrible idea.

Ж

She only recently recognized herself as Mayalaran. Before that, everything was cloaked in fog, impossible to traverse and filled with painful phantom sensations, ones she could only feel as she coalesced into her Shardblade form.

Her memories are slightly more intact now. Not opaque by any means, but tangible. Sheer and filled with holes, but solid enough to feel _ alive. _

Is feeling alive worth the pain? Is that what living_ is? _ A constant trickle of pain, ebbing and flowing with the passage of time?

She feels like she should know. That she should remember.

Ж

She liked listening to Adolin talk. Even before she remembered she was Mayalaran, she liked the sound of his voice.

He was broken, so broken, and he would have been the pick of any spren, but he was _hers, _even if she didn’t realize it yet.

His words were simple, straightforward. He made no grandiose claims. Instead, he spoke wishes and hopes, fervent desires. He didn’t know she existed, and that was fine with her. She could get to know him, in fragments and pieces, duel after duel after duel.

Ж

It was different in Shadesmar. Her body was real there, she was real, and that made her death more inescapable. She never felt like herself in Shadesmar. She was the ghost of a spren haunting her old self.

Then _ he _was there. How was he there? Her mind… she couldn’t piece it together. Was she finally falling apart? Becoming a mindless husk, dead vines embracing a soulless body?

Ж

He was in trouble… had to protect…

Ж

She whispered her name to him as she remembered it. Mayalaran.

He called her Maya. She came to him, following the sound of his heartbeats amidst the roar of battle.

Ж

Maya is alive. She’s alive, but Adolin’s barely clinging to life. His breaths are shallow, wet with blood. She knows that sound. He won’t make it. He’ll die, and she’ll forget herself again.

She can’t forget. She doesn’t want him to die.

“Say the Words!” she yells, and the sound of her own voice is so startling, she almost loses herself again. She _ would’ve _ lost herself, if not for her corporeal form. But Adolin’s pain is a grounding force. She _ will _be there for him, like she was at the Perpendicularity. 

She hears the first ideal. He’s said it before, but this time, it takes hold. The air seems charged with power. He says the second, stuttering a little. Blood loss is catching up with him.

As he starts to say the last ideal, he pauses, choking midway. Maya is screaming, roaring against a world that would snuff out this kind soul so early. She’s grabbing for him, by spirit or energy or Almighty knows what. She pours everything she has into him.

He speaks the third ideal, and the world blazes around them.


	22. Dawn

Everything was quiet.

Adolin thought he could see light from behind his eyelids, glowing bright as the sun. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore. Had he imagined Maya’s voice? Was this death?

His leaden body wouldn’t move. His aches were starting to return, pins and needles spreading across his body. His chest burned, but different from before, as if tiny flames were licking the edges of his wounds.

Adolin felt himself drift away.

Ж

Adolin came out of his stupor slowly, blinking against the sunrise. He was lying on his back, feeling comfortably sore, as if he’d just run through a difficult kata. There was a slight iron tinge to the early-morning air.

At first, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then it hit him: the betrayal, the attack, the burning hand pressed against his chest— 

He looked down. His shirt was destroyed, stiff and brown with blood, but the wound was gone. He was… alive?

“You’re awake.”

He looked to the voice, and his last memories snapped into place. The Words. “Maya,” he breathed.

She looked different from how she had in Shadesmar. Her body was a long, delicate tendril that wrapped around his wrist. A few small crystals framed her face, which was sculpted with a latticework of vines. She reminded him of a bracer, with her being the accent jewel.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“You flatterer,” she said. The vines of her face twisted into a smile. “I seem to recall you speaking with plenty of other women that way. Aren’t you married?”

“How much do you—I mean—” Adolin stammered. “They said you were dead!”

Maya’s face went blank. She seemed lost in memory. “Spren don’t die,” she finally said. She tensed around him, squeezing his arm in an almost painful grip. “We only lose ourselves.”

Then she smiled again, and the twinkle in her eyes returned. The tendrils loosened. “You, Adolin, helped me pick up the pieces.”

He absently reached for his mother’s necklace, tugging at the chain. “Because I remember those who’ve been forgotten,” he murmured.

A frisson ran through him, and he gasped. “What—what was that?”

Maya laughed. “Oh, Adolin. You’ve just sworn another ideal.”

“But, but—I don’t even know what I’m doing!” He ran a hand through his hair, looking around nervously. He could feel the change. Everything was moving so quickly.

_ I don’t deserve this, I’m just— _

“You deserve this, Adolin.” Maya’s voice brooked no argument.

_I… I suppose I do._

Adolin took a steadying breath. He gestured to himself. “At least tell me how I survived.”

A tendril gently lifted and pointed towards Shadrin, then Tenrol. Adolin felt a wave of sickness wash over him. He hadn’t forgotten, but… it was worse seeing them in the light, their bodies growing stiff with decay. Rotspren had started to gather on the corpses.

Adolin stood and walked to the bodies. He crouched down and closed Tenrol’s eyelids, hiding the boy’s burned-out eyes. He lowered his head in a prayer. Then, begrudgingly, he did the same for Shadrin. As he did, his boot accidentally tapped against Tenrol’s pocket. Sphere after sphere rolled out.

Each one was dun.

“You used Stormlight,” said Maya. “That’s what Radiants do.”


	23. Haze

Adolin’s first act of Radiance was to bury the dead.

There was no way to soulcast the bodies, not before they decayed. He wondered, if he’d woken up sooner, would he have been able to resurrect Tenrol? He could do that, right? Tenrol had wanted so badly to fight, and yet it was a stab to the back that had killed him.

“Grieve,” said Maya, her voice gentle. “Remember. But keep going.”

That seemed to be a recurring theme for Adolin these days.

He headed back to camp, where he pulled out a collapsible shovel and litter. A little ways off, there was a small grouping of rockbuds, some which had grown large with all the extra rain from the Everstorm. They retracted as he walked up to them.

“This is the spot,” he said.

The ground was tough, but Adolin leaned into the feeling of soreness that spread across his back and arms as he moved dirt piles. This was necessary work. Families could request cremation, or a soulcast, once Adolin returned to the tower. But without a burial, the bodies would disappear, flesh picked clean and bones washing away in a highstorm.

Digging the holes took most of the morning, and Adolin was sweating through his dirt-encrusted clothing by the end of it. He’d removed his destroyed shirt, but his pants were hardly any better. Still, there was more work to be done.

Adolin walked back to the bodies, carrying the collapsed litter. He folded it out, then grimly laid them atop the bed. Cremlings were beginning to gather around them, and Adolin shooed the creatures away. The smoky smell was finally dispersing from the air.

“It will be easier to move if you use Abrasion…”

“What is Abras—you know what, just tell me what to do. We can go over the details later.”

“As you wish.” 

Ж

Adolin breathed in Stormlight. It was the oddest feeling, like an intake of breath after being splashed by too-cold water. Not quite air, but… The light drifted towards him from one of Shadrin’s scavenged spheres, and Adolin felt his tiredness disappear.

Under Maya’s tutelage, he slicked the bottom of the litter, making it slide across the rough ground to the burial site. It didn’t take long to move the bodies to the graveside. The graves stood waiting, smelling of plants and fresh-tilled earth.

After lowering the bodies into the makeshift graves, he refilled the holes, packing down the dirt when he finished.

Adolin had no idea what time it was. He wasn’t hungry, or tired. He felt more alive than he had in ages. The dead only seemed more absent in contrast.

“Why did it turn out like this?” he murmured, reaching to touch one of the nearby rockbuds which had started to peek back out. His heart felt heavy. He hadn't even known Tenrol all that well.

Something inside him stirred. The plants trembled and shook, and Adolin stepped back as he felt a surge of power rushing down his arm and through his fingertips. Around him, roots twined and spread, fanning out and covering the graves.

He blinked. Where there once was death, now there was life. One of the rockbuds, a smaller plant with thin leaves, blossomed above Tenrol’s grave.

“A fine remembrance,” sighed Maya. Adolin could feel her press against his wrist, snug against his heartbeat.


	24. Cloudbreak

After returning to camp, Adolin sent a glyph to Urithiru via spanreed.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, and Adolin realized he’d have to stay for at least another night. By now, the two Windrunners should have arrived back at the tower, but they wouldn’t know about Tenrol and Shadrin. Shallan would worry after seeing the soldiers arrive alone; Kaladin, too.

He had a lot of people waiting for him.

“They’re not gonna let me forget this,” Adolin muttered.

“No, I don’t suppose they will.”

One glyph wasn’t enough to convey everything that had happened, but unlike his father, he had no idea how to put his thoughts into writing. He itched to say more.

“You should learn how to write,” said Maya as Adolin stared at the spanreed. “You’ll be sent out on more missions soon. It will be good to be able to communicate.”

He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should.” Just then, he had an idea. “Say, I can’t fly, right?”

“No…” said Maya. “Why do you ask? I thought you didn’t like flying.”

“You’ll see.” Adolin smiled. “I think we should send a Radiant over to talk with Brightlady Revali.”

Ж

“Brightlady!” said Adolin, walking into Brightlady Revali’s sitting room unannounced. He’d changed into his last remaining outfit, a blue suit that was dashing but far too warm for the weather. Embroidery glittered on the cuffs, and Maya had transformed herself into a coiling, beautiful epaulet. His hair was neatly combed, and he wore a charming smile.

At first, she startled, eyes wide. Then, seeing him, she settled back into a luxurious pose, angling a hip towards him so that the fabric of her dress pulled tight.

“Adolin Kholin,” she said. “What a pleasure to see you. Have you changed your mind? About our…alliance?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said brightly. “You see, I must be heading back to my wife very soon—”

“Your wife?!”

“—and I simply cannot afford any more delays.” He bowed toward her. She looked completely dumbfounded. “In my own haste, I realized that a woman of your station must also be pressed for time. I wanted to send over a Radiant immediately to show proper respect for your busy schedule.” He laid a hand on his chest. “As one of the members of the Knights Radiant, I’d like to discuss the formalities of our agreement.”

The Brightlady paled further. “You’re a Knight Radiant?”

Adolin sucked in Stormlight, glowing briefly. “I’ll also need to borrow a scribe,” he said, light leaking from his lips.

Caught off-guard, the Brightlady wasn’t able to project the same confidence he’d seen the day before. She stammered, “I… I don’t have a scribe at the moment.”

“Ah, then would the lady be so kind as to allow me to dictate a message to Urithiru? It may need to be conveyed to my cousin, Queen Jasnah Kholin of Alethkar.”

“Queen?!”

“Time is of the essence, Brightlady Revali. I cannot express the importance of this alliance.” He stepped forward, taking her hands in his. He smiled, broad enough to show white, gleaming teeth.

Brightlady Revali gaped, glancing down at their clasped hands. When he let go, she finally unfroze. She stood and stumbled over to a side table. “Let me just—I have some paper in this drawer. If I could just…”

Adolin thought he could hear Maya laughing. He just sighed in relief. He was headed home.


	25. Interlude: Clear Skies

_Sun unto son_  
_ Bright day, the light rises_  
_ Go and see; thus seeing, and gone_  
_ Rise! Light the day, brightly_  
_ Son unto sun_

Ж

When two Windrunners arrive at the Oathgate unannounced and without Adolin, Shallan’s heart nearly shatters.

For a moment, she feels a familiar squeeze of panic, a fear that threatens to overwhelm her. Veil tries to seize control, to pull her away from the pain, but Shallan shakes her off.

“Where is he?” she demands.

A bald-headed young man nods to her. He smells faintly of smoke, and there’s an air of defeat about him. He doesn’t ask who “he” is, for which Shallan is grateful.

“Adolin was fine when we left,” he says. “He sent us away because there were Voidbringers. He was able to take them all down by himself, but he worried about our safety.”

“What’s going on?” a voice asks.

Shallan turns to see Kaladin storming up to the platform. What is he doing here? Whatever. Shallan’s glad to see him.

“Sir,” says the second soldier, a nervous-looking boy. He salutes Kaladin. “The Voidbringers came, and Adolin saved us. He wanted to stay long enough to talk with the Brightlady and finish the mission. Sir.”

“Why were there Voidbringers at—” Kaladin curses and shakes his head. “Never mind.” He looks to Shallan, laying a hand on her shoulder. She stares at him with worried eyes. “Shallan, we got a glyph from Adolin not too long ago. He’s alive. We know that much.”

Shallan exhales, and the two soldiers seem to relax. After they explain that two others remained behind, Kaladin tells them to report to Teft, who had been overseeing their training.

“You’re going to have to get used to this,” says Kaladin, looking at Shallan with concern.

“I know,” she says. “I know! It’s just… Storms, this is frustrating. I just wish I knew more.”

“He’s good at what he does,” says Kaladin. “He’ll be fine. In fact—”

A runner rushes over to the platform, looking around until she spots Shallan. “Brightness!” she says, breathless, “I have a message from Adolin! He’s on the spanreed right now!”

Shallan chases after her. Kaladin follows.

Ж

Shallan shoos away the runner, leaving her and Kaladin alone with the blinking spanreed. Paper has been set up for her, so all she has to do is test the connection.

“I’ll read it for you,” she says, and Kaladin nods.

“‘Shallan,’” she reads. “‘And Bridgeboy. I know he’s there with you.’” She glances at Kaladin, who looks almost fond.

“‘This mission has been something else. I’ll brief you when I can. Right now, I am…’” Shallan frowns. “It says he’s alone. That’s not good, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Can you ask for more details? Is he hurt? What about—”

“Wait, there’s more. Let me read.” Shallan’s eyes trace over the script, and she clears her throat. “‘Tell Bridgeboy that I’m not injured,’” she reads. “‘He’s probably asking questions.’”

Kaladin grumbles.

“‘I’ll need a ride back to Urithiru. It will take too long if I walk to the gate, and my supplies are running low. I was able to get Brightlady Revali to agree to a meeting’—oh, that’s excellent news—‘and have so much more to tell you.’” 

Shallan pauses, waiting for the next line of script. “Let’s see… ‘Please speak to my father. I’d like for us to sit down and talk. I think our meeting is long overdue. If you let him know, I think it will give him peace of mind. Tell Renarin as well.’ Oh, Adolin.”

The spanreed stops moving, and Shallan wonders if that’s the end of the message. Her mind is tumbling. There was so much to think about!

She looks away for a moment to glance at Kaladin. His posture has relaxed, although there’s still a worried look on his face. Perhaps he’s worried about the Windrunners?

“Hey,” he says. He points to the spanreed. “It’s still moving. I think there’s something else.”

“Let me see.”

Shallan looks at the last line. Something inside her lights up. She can’t explain it. Pattern is buzzing, and she knows he can tell what she’s thinking. That big changes are happening.

“‘I found an Edgedancer,’” she reads. “‘I can’t wait for you to meet him.’”


	26. Interlude: Sunbeams

_Brightening days_  
_Skies, cloudy in sunbeams_  
_Both, weather; life weathers both_  
_Sunbeams in cloudy skies_  
_Days brighten_

Ж

Kaladin finds Adolin alone at camp. There’s a burnt smell to the air, and the sky is hazy. Although Kaladin’s relieved that two of the Windrunners are safe in Urithiru, Adolin being here alone means the other two…

_ Don’t think about it, Kaladin. You can’t save everyone. _

Despair claws at him. He tries to push down the Wretch, but it’s impossible. As the one to suggest this mission, he can’t help but feel he bears responsibility for its aftermath. He can’t think about that now, though. It was blessing enough that Adolin had survived… whatever had happened.

Kaladin hadn’t gotten much out of their brief spanreed conversation, just that there had been casualties and that Adolin needed a Windrunner to get him back to the Oathgate. He knew it had something to do with Voidbringers. But hadn’t everyone survived that attack? Had there been another?

Since Adolin had gotten Brightlady Revali to send a message to Urithiru early in the morning, Kaladin offered to fly and meet him that same day. Too much had gone wrong with the mission for Kaladin to feel comfortable leaving Adolin alone for much longer.

“He said he wasn’t made of glass,” Syl had scolded, echoing Adolin’s earlier words. Kaladin, ignoring her, just took to the skies.

Now Kaladin is here, after flying so fast that even the windspren had pushed themselves to keep up. Adolin is wearing a ridiculous suit, silver glinting off his sleeves. There’s an epaulet on his right shoulder. At first glance, he looks too relaxed. Like an aristocrat visiting the site of a slaughter. But there’s something about his expression… something has changed.

Adolin spots Kaladin and waves. “Hey, Bridgeboy.”

“Hey.” Kaladin clears his throat. “Are you hurt?”

Adolin smiles. “I thought I told Shallan to tell you I wasn’t injured.”

There are too many supplies at the camp for one person. Too many soldiers dead and missing. One man can’t be unhurt after all that.

“What happened?” Kaladin asks.

Adolin’s smile falls. “It wasn’t a Voidbringer. Not the second time. One of the men attacked us. He murdered Tenrol, and we fought. I… I killed him.” He swallows. “I don’t regret it, not really. But I’m tired of saying it doesn’t bother me.” He looks at Kaladin, and it’s that look, that weariness to Adolin’s face, that is so recognizable it hurts.

Adolin gestures to a spot just beyond camp. The dirt looks freshly moved, and there are enormous rockbud plants, with a few blossoms reaching skyward. “We probably won’t be able to find out anything about Shadrin. He’s the one who attacked. But Tenrol… He’s buried there. We should let his family know.”

_ I wonder if he even has a family,_ Kaladin thinks.

Kaladin and Adolin pack up the most important gear and prepare it for transport. They won’t be able to carry everything, and Kaladin realizes how foolish it was not to bring a few others along. He’ll have to make a return trip, perhaps with an official escort to meet with the Brightlady.

They make their way to the platform, moving far slower than Kaladin’s mad flight from before. Kaladin is careful to keep his speed nice and even, not wanting to make Adolin sick. When they arrive, Adolin doesn’t look too bad—certainly less nauseated than the last time they’d flown. 

Kaladin scowls at him. There’s still something…different…about him. “I feel like there’s more to this mission you’re not saying,” he says.

“There is.” Adolin’s eyes are just a bit sad. “I promise I’ll tell you about it. And that’s an actual promise, not just me deflecting. A lot happened. I’ve realized some things. I think I just need to figure them out.” He pauses, looks away. “I need to talk with my father.”

_ Yes, you do! _Kaladin feels relief run through him like inhaled Stormlight.

They finish moving the packs to the center of the platform, then ready themselves to leave. As they’re settling into position, Kaladin realizes something. “Say,” he says, “where’s this Edgedancer? The one you found?”

Adolin smirks. “Oh, right, let me go get him.”

Adolin walks over to the Oathgate mechanism and holds out his sword hand with a flourish. Kaladin stares as he sees the epaulet on Adolin’s shoulder begin to move, reforming into a familiar Shardblade as vines spindle out and turn into silvery metal. His shock changes into a very real smile as Adolin activates the gate.


	27. Sunlight

Adolin hears Shallan’s yell before he sees her running down the path to the platform. Before he can say hello, she’s got her arms wrapped around him. After everything, he basks in the simple comfort of being with her.

“Adolin!” Her voice is muffled, her face buried in his chest.

“It’s good to see you too, Shallan.”

She looks up, and there’s annoyance on her face. “I’m glad the mission went okay, but why didn’t you ask for backup?” She tries to step back, but he tugs at her sleeves, pulling her back to him. Now his arms are around her, and he’s breathing her in, like Stormlight, feeling himself return to life.

He doesn’t want to let her go—not yet. 

The next part is difficult. The words stick in his throat, but Maya sends a gentle push through the bond. “I didn’t think I was worth the effort,” he admits in a quiet voice.

Shallan stops trying to pull away. She looks at him, face distraught.

“I had my mission,” he continues. “I felt the weight of expectation, and I bore that weight. I told myself I was fine when I wasn’t.”

“Wow,” Shallan breathes. “When I said I wanted you to be honest with me, I guess you took it to heart.” Then she smiles, gently. “I’m here for you, for all your feelings. Please don’t hide them from me.”

“The same goes for you, you know. I know how you like to hide things.”

She flushes, tries once more to pull away. “We’re not talking about me!” she says. He just holds her a little closer.

No one bothers them, even with their decidedly un-Alethi display. Adolin wonders how much word has spread of his mission—about him. He knows he’s been acting strangely lately, but is it any wonder? His breakdown has been a long time coming. The healing will take a longer time still.

“Listen,” he finally says, letting go. Shallan looks up at him, eyes glistening. “I need to speak with my father. I know I asked you to talk to him, but… There are some problems that shouldn’t be ignored. That I can’t run from. He and I need to talk, now.”

Shallan nods. “He’s in the war room, studying maps. I think he’s alone.”

“Perfect,” he says. He fumbles in his jacket pocket and grabs something. “Here, I got you a present. Hold out your hand.”

She does, confusion on her face, a look that only grows more confused as he lays a single seed pod in her palm.

“Um. I like sketching plants, but they’re usually more…alive…”

Her words trail off as he concentrates, breathing in Stormlight and staring at the tiny seed. He sees Tenrol’s grave, the red, blossoming plant at its head. Shallan’s eyes grow wide as small green shoots begin poking out from the cracked pod.

“Oh! Oh, Adolin!”

He laughs, delighting in the joyspren that spring up around her as she stares at the tiny plant in her palm. “I hope you like your bouquet.”

Ж

Adolin walks into the war room feeling the weight of years.

His father doesn’t notice him at first. He sits at the table, engrossed in looking at a relief map of Alethkar. Parts of the map are marked with small chits; others are annotated with a messy scrawl. It’s impossible to tell who’s winning or losing—or if it’s that kind of map at all. 

Adolin clears his throat, and his father jumps.

“You’re back,” says his father. He shifts as if to stand, but remains in his chair. Adolin takes a seat at the table directly across from him.

There’s an awkward silence as his father tries to meet his eye, only to look away. It occurs to Adolin that perhaps his father’s been dreading this talk, too. They’re like two whitespines caged in together, unable to escape but unwilling to fight a losing battle.

“Yes, I’m back. Barely. That was not a good mission, Father.” Adolin sighs. “I’ll debrief you later. We have some major security concerns. We’ve lost—but, no, that’s… that’s not why I’m here.”

His father says nothing. His skin looks sallow. Adolin thinks even the Stormfather himself might be trying to break the bond to escape from this conversation.

“It…” his father finally says. “Kaladin thought it might help. The mission, I mean.”

“Oh, for Almighty’s sake. Of course it was Bridgeboy's idea,” Adolin says with an exasperated sigh. “Father, Kaladin’s turned self-sacrifice into an art form. His idea of working through a problem is to run off and save a war orphan.” He feels Maya’s amusement through the bond.

His father looks abashed. “It helped, didn’t it?” he finally says. There’s a stubborn look on his face, one that Adolin recognizes from his own face in the mirror. A Kholin trait, but one that’s often the start of trouble.

“That is _ not _ the point!” Adolin sets his jaw, frustrated. “You know what Jasnah told one of the bridgemen? In order to bond a spren, you must be _ broken._” He raises his hand, gesturing towards his epaulet, with Maya’s delicate face and her crown of jewels. “Father, meet my spren.”

“Your—wait, you’ve bonded a spren?”

“Is it really that much of a surprise, Father? With my and Renarin’s messed-up childhood, it’s little wonder that spren were just _ aching _to bond with me.” Sarcasm seeps into his voice, and Adolin feels Maya trying to soothe him, but the memories that rise up threaten to drown him. He’s trying to let himself feel, but all these emotions—they’ve been building up. They have to go somewhere.

_You can do it, _ he thinks. _ Let yourself feel, but work past the feelings. _

Adolin takes a breath. His father is still quiet, dumbfounded, as if he’d never considered any of this. How could he have not? How could he have misunderstood his son so much?

“Father, when you didn’t give me any orders at Thaylen City, your message was that I was worthless. That I had no place in your battlefield.” He breathes in Stormlight to steady his shaking hands. Maya gives his wrist a gentle squeeze. “But everyone that day had value. I may be a Radiant now, but that makes me no better than I was then. I’ve _ worked _to be better.”

His father sighs. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You do now, Father. And it’s a lesson you should’ve realized long ago. There are so many things you should have done differently.”

Adolin takes another breath, and this one is shuddering, a shake in his lungs and in his heart. He thinks of smoke and fire, and he remembers his own battle, the wild look in Shadrin’s eyes and the danger of the man’s rage.

“I still blame you for mother’s death,” he says. His voice is quiet, but he can see his father stiffen, his shoulders going rigid. “If you can accept your own pain, then you must accept mine.”

Adolin closes his eyes. He can’t look at his father’s face right now. He imagines it: consternation, mouth open in retort. He doesn’t allow him to speak. “If you’d spoken with me before you wrote your book—then maybe… I don’t know, Father!” His fingernails bite into his clenched fists. “I’m trying to be honest with myself for a change. I’ve been lying about my own feelings, and lying to myself about you. You aren’t a paragon. You’re just a man.”

“You’re right.” His father looks at him with a strange expression. Adolin isn’t sure what it is. He’s seen so much on his father’s face before: exasperation, coldness, frustration. Perhaps love, long ago. But this…

Adolin realizes with a sudden shock that it might actually be _ respect. _

“Adolin, I’ve done wrong by you. I’ve realized just how unfair I’ve been since I started on this path.” His father’s face is pinched. “But I was so absorbed in everything—with refounding the Knights, with the Everstorm and the destruction of home—that I ignored you.” He looks away, his gaze fixed on a memory. “I forgot your mother due to my own hand, and I only recently remembered. To me, she is a woman of myth, someone whom I loved in a distant dream. But to you… To you, she was so much more.” He sighs. “Son, I am sorry. I truly am.”

It’s not enough. Adolin _ knows _ it isn’t. His heart is burning, and he feels _ so much. _

Reconciliation is harder than he’d expected. And yet. Even these words, spoken by his father in a strained, hushed voice… It’s more than he could have hoped for.

Adolin takes a shaky breath. There will be more talks. There will be arguments, and more hurt than he thinks he can bear.

But he’ll do it. He’ll be the best of his mother, the best of the Blackthorn. Most of all, he’ll be himself. That will be enough.


	28. Epilogue

They burn the memorial glyphs in a small ceremony, a thin plume of smoke rising from the blackened paper and carrying up prayers. Adolin holds his mother’s necklace, his fist tight around the smooth metal. Beside him, Renarin sits, head bowed. Both cling to memory.

The glyphs are crudely painted, as if done by a child’s hand. Adolin’s not very good with writing yet. Shallan had offered to write the glyphs for him, but he’d insisted on doing it himself.

Adolin and Renarin are alone. Adolin hadn’t wanted Father here for this, not right now. The wounds are still too raw. What’s most important is that the man had respected his sons’ wishes, letting Adolin and Renarin sit with their grief over their mother privately. It was a fragile peace they’d built, with each day being its own journey.

The burning glyphs smell sweet, not caustic. Adolin feels a brief ache to see the gray smoke, a small flicker of unease. He accepts the feeling and moves on.

“I’m so sorry,” Renarin whispers. Adolin looks to his brother, confused. “I should have told you. I should have told you about my vision—”

“Ren.” Adolin rests his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Renarin won’t meet his eye; his head is still bowed, shoulders hunched. “Ren, look at me.”

His brother finally looks at him, and Adolin is unsurprised by the tears in Renarin’s eyes. After all, he’s crying, too. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll work through it together.”

They sit in companionable silence as the glyphs finish burning away. Once the paper becomes ash, Adolin stands and stretches. His mother’s necklace goes back around his neck, and he offers a hand to Renarin. His brother pulls himself up.

“Bridgeboy’s probably waiting on us,” Adolin says. He almost wishes he had a time fabrial like his father. How long had they been in here?

“Bridge—oh! I’d nearly forgotten. We’d better hurry.”

They leave the room and head towards a lift that will take them to a small alcove by the medical bay. Kaladin has been gathering supplies, splints and bandages and gauze, and he’s even managed to find a book filled with anatomical drawings. Just because Adolin’s learning to read doesn’t mean he can read _ well. _

Renarin clears his throat as they enter the lift. “Why are we learning medicine, anyway? Can’t we just—” Renarin wiggles his fingers, as if to mime using Stormlight.

Maya, in her bracer form, smiles and raises a vinelike tendril, wiggling it back at Renarin.

“Oh, stop that,” Adolin chides. Maya laughs, but settles back down on his wrist. They exit the lift and continue walking down the hallway.

“Knowing how the body is put together will help us with healing, I’m sure of it,” Adolin says. He gestures towards the higher part of the tower. “Shallan has to know the structure of something to draw it if it’s not a memory. It’s the same thing. Storms, she may want to join us.”

Renarin bites his lip. “I guess so. But maybe we should be learning separately? I’m not an Edgedancer.”

Adolin shakes his head. “Part of the reason a Skybreaker was able to infiltrate Windrunner ranks is that we haven’t been working with other Orders enough.” He feels a trickle of frustration. He allows himself to remember Shadrin before shoving aside the memory of his scarred face.

He continues. “We have to better ourselves through collaboration, not just competition.” He grins and nudges his brother. “Besides, I’m lucky enough to share Progression with you, so we can learn together. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah,” says Renarin, his smile growing. “It really is.”

ЖЖЖ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap! 🎉
> 
> Thanks to everyone who followed along with Adolin’s journey from Sadolin to Madolin to Gladolin. Your support and enthusiasm was greatly appreciated. I had a lot of fun reading your comments, and I hope you enjoyed the story.


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